


time and again

by a_matter_of_loyalty



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But also not, Kind of Major Character Death?, M/M, character death is only temporary i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-06 22:04:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14657151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_matter_of_loyalty/pseuds/a_matter_of_loyalty
Summary: “Mike’s dead,” Donna says, and just like that, as if the words are the harbinger of his own destruction, his world bursts into flames. Because he needs Mike, so much that it hurts. He knows he’d do anything just to be able to see Mike again.--But Harvey couldn’t have known that having Mike within sight may not mean having Mike within reach.Mike’s standing right there, with the same blue eyes and cheeky smile and messy blond hair that Harvey fell for, but he’s staring at Harvey like he is a stranger and Harvey can’t stand it.





	1. my skies are a shade of gray (because you’re gone)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about writing this for a while now, and at first I figured the urge would eventually pass, but the idea just wouldn't leave my head - so I ended up pulling out my laptop and I got around to starting this and now here we are. The basic plot was mostly inspired by two different fills, and one other separate prompt, on the Suitsmeme, though I'm afraid I can't find the links anymore. I'll be sure to add in the links if ever I do find them again, though; the fills are both completely amazing.
> 
> This work does contain character death, however it IS temporary, don't worry. I wouldn't do that to Mike - or Harvey; they're so perfect for each other I can't stand watching them grow farther and farther apart from each other now. 
> 
> Part of the chapter title is derived from lyrics of the song Come Alive by Hugh Jackman.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own the show or any of its characters.
> 
> This is Unbeta'd, so any and all mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been thinking about writing this for a while now, and at first I figured the urge would eventually pass, but the idea just wouldn't leave my head - so I ended up pulling out my laptop and I got around to starting this and now here we are. The basic plot was mostly inspired by two different fills, and one other separate prompt, on the Suitsmeme, though I'm afraid I can't find the links anymore. I'll be sure to add in the links if ever I do find them again, though; the fills are both completely amazing.
> 
> This work does contain character death, however it IS temporary, don't worry. I wouldn't do that to Mike - or Harvey; they're so perfect for each other I can't stand watching them grow farther and farther apart from each other now. 
> 
> Part of the chapter title is derived from lyrics of the song Come Alive by Hugh Jackman.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own the show or any of its characters.
> 
> This is Unbeta'd, so any and all mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

Donna eyes Harvey’s calendar wearily, rearranging his schedule in her mind before she even dares attempt to rework it physically. Lately a pattern has begun to show up: every week, without fail, there is a taken slot on Harvey’s Sunday afternoons lasting over three hours. The weekly event is marked urgent; the type of urgent even she isn’t allowed to move around.

Donna knows that it is no important client meeting or business event that occupies Harvey’s usually lazy Sundays. There is, after all, only one person Harvey values enough to reorganize his entire schedule—and his life—around.

Mike.

Donna heaves a fretful sigh. When she first met Mike, face open and innocent and far too trusting, she never expected to grow attached. No, rather, she had taken one look at him and thought pityingly, _He’s going to be eaten alive._ But Mike surpassed all of her expectations when he instead _thrived_ in their high-stakes corporate world—all the while retaining the earnest nature that had earned him her begrudging respect.

Donna has never been incredibly fond of any of the associates. But Mike... Mike is different, in every possible way. And everyday she finds herself admiring his resilience as well as the way he hangs on to Harvey’s every word. Mike’s loyalty has always been his best trait.

Except now she can’t help but resent that same loyalty. It is what left Mike behind bars, after all, and even though it is also without a doubt the only thing that is keeping Harvey, Jessica and Louis (and maybe even Donna herself) out of jail, it kills her to know that it is Mike’s sense of loyalty that sent him scrambling to make a deal.

Mike doesn’t belong in prison; the mere thought of him in a prison jumpsuit makes Donna’s heart squeeze and combust. She wants to scream, wants to pull some magic trick out of her hat and _save_ him. Mike has always believed her to be perfect and omniscient, a _goddess,_ but the truth is she can do nothing to help him, and knowing that stingsmore than anything.

In all her years working for Harvey, Donna has never once felt like a failure. Until now. Because she knows that no matter how many times Mike tells her he doesn’t blame her, _she_ blames herself. She _did_ fail Mike. So even if Mike will never hold it against her, she can’t help but be disappointed in herself. 

Donna is jolted out of her self-loathing thoughts when her work telephone starts to ring. She jumps in her seat, takes a moment to be grateful that no one is around to witness her rare moment of vulnerability and weakness, and promptly feels guilty for even thinking of something so comparably insignificant, after everything that has happened. 

She finds herself wishing Mike was around to see her acting human and not-herself, even if it ends up with him laughing at her. At least that would mean he’s back where he belongs: with them, far, _far_ away from prison.

But Mike’s gone.

It takes Donna a few seconds to recollect her composure before she feels steady enough to answer the phone. “Harvey Specter’s office,” she greets mechanically into the receiver, stiff exhaustion lacing her every word. It sickens her to go on with her everyday routine when Mike is _in prison_ right now, suffering for a crime they are all guilty of.

_“Is this Donna Paulsen?”_

Her brows furrow. She very rarely receives personal calls on her work phone. To the outside world, she is just the secretary, after all. “Yes, this is she,” she answers warily, an instinctive dread beginning to pool in the pit of her stomach.

_“My name is Julius Rowe, and I work as a counselor at Danbury Federal Penitentiary. I’m calling for Michael James Ross, one of my patients. You are listed as one of his emergency contacts. Is that information correct?”_

“Y-Yes,” Donna stammers, the dread boiling into an uncomfortable fear that _roils_ and _sears_ in her gut, “that’s correct. I’m an emergency contact.” _Why do Mike’s emergency contacts need to be contacted?_ she wonders, and then swallows painfully. The dozen possibilities that come to mind downright frighten her. _No, oh god no. No no no nonono. Please no. Please let Mike be okay._

_“It is my legal obligation to inform you that Mr. Ross was stabbed in his Danbury prison cell at 16:37 PM this afternoon.”_

Donna’s reaction is instantaneous: she freezes. She muffles a strangled sob and is only barely able to keep the phone gripped in her trembling fingers.

And deep inside the farthest reaches of her mind, she can see the threads keeping her world together finally unraveling—and she can’t bring herself to look away.

_“Mr. Ross suffered a collapsed lung and his condition was already incredibly severe by the time our on-site paramedics were alerted to the situation. Unfortunately, they could not do much to help him, and were only able to staunch the bleeding. Mr. Ross was loaded onto an ambulance to be transferred to a nearby hospital; however, we recently received an update that Mr. Ross crashed twice during the ride over before flatlining for the last time on the operating table."_

Donna’s face pales with fear and horror the second she hears the word “flatlining.” The counselor's words bring a completely different dimension to the thought _Mike is gone,_ and she isn't prepared for the sheer  _agony_ that strikes her chest, leaving her breathless. She has to bite her tongue to keep from crying out loud and screaming and _begging_.

Because although when asked, most will say under oath and with absolute certainty that Donna Paulsen definitely _does not beg_ , she knows she would for Mike. 

_“I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Paulsen,”_ the counselor continues, and at the words of condolence Donna lets an anguished weep slip through, _“but Mike’s attending doctors declared him dead as of 18:02 PM.”_

Donna tightens her grip on the telephone to keep from dropping the device. She slams her other hand onto her desk, gripping the edge so tightly that her knuckles whiten. _This can’t be happening,_ she thinks, breaking. Mike couldn’t—he just couldn’t— _oh god, oh fuck, oh shit no no no._

Why _Mike_? she wants to ask Julius, ask the _world_. Mike doesn’t deserve _any_ of this; Mike didn’t even deserve prison, and he deserves death even less. And Jesus Christ it’s so fucking _unfair_. 

_God, please, not Mike._ It is only when she reaches up to brush her hair back behind her ear, searching for something, _anything_ , to do to distract herself from the _loud loud loud_ shattering of her heart, that she realizes that her cheeks are damp with tears. She laughs a little hysterically, a lot brokenly, and wonders when she started crying. 

But _of course_ she’s crying. This is _Mike_.

And god even the _thought_ of never having the chance to tease Mike again; to team up with him against Harvey again; to “persuade” Mike into buying her coffee again; to intimidate him into obeying her every whim again; to convince him she knows everything again... It _hurts_ so fucking much.

Donna would do anything to go back. To have _Mike_ back. And maybe Pearson Specter Litt doesn’t deserve Mike, maybe Mike is too selfless and too good for this world (for _their_ world), but she _needs_ him. For both herself and for Harvey.

When Mike waltzed into their lives almost six years ago now, briefcase full of pot in one hand, she had never once imagined that she would end up growing to care about him _this_ much, but she does. She _does_ care, too much, and now he is _gone_.

She’d do anything for Mike (for _them_ ). She’d even _pray_ for him (she doesn’t much believe in prayers, but if it means having Mike back she’d try it all).

Donna just wants their little family back together, dysfunctional as they may be at times. She just wants Mike with them again, safe and sound in their own world.

She stammers out a weak response— _“I-I understand, thank you for letting me know”_ —in a trembling voice that sounds foreign even to her own ears, and drops the phone back into its proper holding place. She struggles to push herself off her chair and to a standing position, swaying instantly. It’s difficult to remain upright when it feels like her entire world has just crumbled at its foundations.

It is only the thought that Harvey (oh god, _Harvey_ ) would need her to be strong for him that keeps her from collapsing to her knees right there in the middle of the damn hallway.

Harvey, she remembers, is currently in a meeting with Jessica, Louis, Rachel, and Benjamin, discussing the current rundown state of the firm. He left her at her desk to field any calls from their few remaining clients, instructing her not to disturb them unless it’s an emergency—Pearson Specter Litt is on its last legs, after all, and even those legs are quickly being cut out from right under them. 

But this... this _definitely_ constitutes an emergency. And the thought of delivering this piece of news to the others terrifies Donna in a way she can’t explain. Harvey—not to mention Rachel, Mike’s _fiancée_ —will be _devastated,_ and Donna knows this with every fiber of her being. 

Because Donna sees the way Mike’s incarceration is affecting Harvey. She sees the way Harvey’s face darkens with guilt every time Mike’s name comes up in conversation. And she can hear the utter despair that laces his voice whenever he talks about his (failed) attempts to free his protégé— _“Goddamnit! I_ owe _him, Donna! He’s gone, and I_ need _to protect him.”_

She swallows down her own misery and quickens her pace until she is almost running, desperate to reach the others if only to share in their company. Their presence would, if nothing else, comfort her (remind her she isn’t alone).

The second her eyes latch onto the gathering of name partners, Rachel, and Benjamin, her body sags the slightest bit in not quite relief, but something close to it. Her anguish doesn’t lessen, but she is less lonely in the feeling.

The click-clack of her heels pounding against the cold linoleum floor immediately draws Harvey’s attention; his head snaps up from where he is reading what appears to be the new budget reports. His eyes widen in alarm, and she has to wonder how she looks from the outside, to the others.

She receives her answer when the angle and lighting allows her to glimpse her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling glass windows—her hair is unkempt from where she subconsciously ran her hand through it over and over again, her eyes are red and puffy with tears, her dress has slipped slightly off her right shoulder after her fast-paced run, and her expression is frantic and haggard like it has never been before.

She shakes her head to clear the image, so unimportant compared to the endless beat of _he’s dead he’s dead he’s dead_ thumping in synch with her heart and roaring in her ears. She flings open the door to Jessica’s office and barges in without regard for normal office proprieties, interrupting another one of Louis’ many _We-need-to-give-our-all-to-get-back-on-our-feet_ tirades. 

Louis frowns instantly. “Donna, what—” he cuts himself off abruptly when he notices Donna’s bloodshot eyes. He has _never_ , in all his years of knowing her, seen her so uncomposed. Oh, sure, he has witnessed her cry on _countless_ occasions, but those times were less genuine—merely a ploy to pull at his heartstrings—and so obviously different from this instance. She has never looked like _this_ before—like the world is ending and she is helpless to stop it.

And Donna Paulsen is never helpless. Should never _be_ helpless.

Harvey’s heart drops to his gut. “What’s wrong?” he asks urgently, not sure if he really wants to hear the answer.

Finally surrounded by people who she knows will understand and share in her grief, Donna sinks to her knees and lets out a keening wail that breaks Harvey’s heart. The accompanying lost look on her face makes him rush forward and lower himself to a crouch before her, heedless of their audience.

“Donna,” he prompts gently, “what is it? What happened?”

She presses the heels of her hands to her face as if to push back the rest of her tears. She manages to swallow her sorrow long enough to choke out, “I’m sorry. Oh god, I’m so sorry, Harvey,”—she lifts her gaze and locks eyes with Rachel, whose eyes are wide with unconcealed surprise—“Rachel.”

“Donna...” he trails off uncertainly.

She gulps. “I—I got a call,” she begins, bracing herself for their reactions. She continues with a long-winded, ultimately unnecessary explanation she knows only serves to stall for time and help her build up her own courage: “The man on the other side was someone named Julius Rowe. He—he said he was a counselor. A prison counselor.” Her eyes are fixated on an invisible point on the ground, but she hears Harvey suck in a breath and it makes her flinch. Her voice cracking, she whispers, “ _Mike’s_ counselor.”

“Oh, no,” it is Louis, surprisingly, who reacts first, face etched with worry lines. Donna glances up at him, and then at the others: from Harvey, whose face is frozen with shock; to Rachel, who has clapped her hands over her mouth and is fighting off tears; to Jessica, whose eyes have closed with defeat, and who is exhaling softly, sadly; to Benjamin, whose jaw has set as though to steel himself for what Donna might say next. “What was he calling about? Did Mike get into a fight?”

Donna flinches visibly at Louis’ question. _A fight._ If it were any other situation, anyone but Mike, the irony might have made her laugh. This _is_ Mike, though, so she doesn’t laugh at all. “I—Julius said Mike—he—someone in Danbury—”

“ _Donna_ ,” Jessica cuts off firmly, but not unkindly. There is concern in her eyes when they reopen; Jessica doesn’t think she has ever seen Donna this rattled before. “Breathe,” she soothes.

“I—I can’t,” Donna sobs, and the blood in Harvey’s veins chills. From their very first meeting, Donna has been the rock in Harvey’s life; his anchor. She is always there for him whenever he needs her, strong and solid and unshakable. She’s the one to keep the both of them standing and upright whenever tragedy strikes. And now even the mere idea of her _breaking_ —he can’t compute. “I’m sorry, I just...”

“Donna...?” Harvey asks when she falters and her voice dies. Donna knows Harvey well enough to be able to hear the plea in his voice. “What happened with Mike?”

“ _To_ Mike,” Donna corrects brokenly. She belatedly realizes that for all her talk, she failed to maintain her facade of strength. It’s too late now to pretend, so she just soldiers on. “He—Harvey, Mike was _stabbed_.”

Everyone falls silent. There is not even the sound of breathing. It’s as though the _life_ has been sucked out of the office (just as it must have been sucked out of Mike’s body, Donna can’t help but remember, despite herself).

“Oh,” Louis exhales, his face falling. He looks stunned, like he expected to hear anything but that. “ _Oh_. Is... is he okay?”

The hope in his voice threatens to crush Donna’s ribcage. Already her chest is heaving uncontrollably with the effort of her hitched breathing. She opens her mouth to speak, to answer Louis, but her voice fails her and in the end it is all she can do to shake her head minutely and bury her head in her hands. A choked cry erupts out of her chest.

“No.” There is nothing in Harvey’s voice. No anger, no sadness, _nothing_. The single word is a flat rejection, as though if he believes it hard enough he will be able to rearrange reality itself with a mere flick of his wrist. “ _No_. That’s—impossible. Donna, _what are you saying_?”

Donna sniffles, wiping away her tears furiously. “He’s dead,” she whimpers, and to actually _say_ it, to actually admit it out loud... It opens the doors to an entirely new wave of despair and she breaks down all over again. “I’m so sorry. Mike’s gone.”

Harvey staggers backwards, losing his balance and falling to sit haphazardly on his rear. He looks haunted in the deathly pale of his face, the guilt that has existed in the back of his mind since the day Mike walked through Danbury gates a lifetime ago tripling, quadrupling, _quintupling_. 

The pain of losing Mike is unbearable, like an amputation he cannot ignore. But, no. Even losing a limb would be preferable to this, because he can live without one arm or one leg—because at least then he would still have Mike helping him through the loss. Losing Mike, though, is worse than crippling. Far, far worse, because Mike is, frankly, the one thing he _can’t_ live without, and now Harvey is confronted with the acute knowledge that he will have to go through every new day without Mike and his stupid jokes and his damn caring by his side.

There is a lump in his throat where the assurance of Mike’s presence should be and Harvey struggles to breathe, to regain his bearings in a world that no longer houses Mike Ross.

“No,” he croaks. _Mike... no, that’s not possible. Not Mike. He can’t be—I can’t—that’s—no. Please,_ please _, no._ For the last six years Mike has always been there for Harvey, everywhere he turned. Whenever he needed Mike, his associate stepped up to the plate without fail. And so Harvey has known every second of everyday that he can rely on Mike with anything and everything.

Mike is ( _was_ , a voice in his head reminds him darkly, and Harvey shouts and claws back at it) unrelenting in his cheer. Mike always showed up to work with an unwavering grin and a swagger in his step few could match. He was consistent in his tardiness, and he always came bearing coffee for Donna and his files for Harvey, eager to showcase his brilliant mind at work. Harvey was often faced with the thought that nothing would ever be able to stifle Mike’s boundless joy, or silence his voice.

But now...

Harvey wants to _scream_. To pound every _single_ inmate in Danbury into the next world, into oblivion. To raze everyone who so much as looked Mike the wrong way to the ground. 

He wants to see Mike, to hear Mike, to hold Mike, to _breathe_ Mike. 

He is only faintly aware of Rachel falling back onto Jessica’s couch and weeping into her hands; of Louis flocking to her and resting a comforting hand on her shoulder even as he himself blinks back tears; of Jessica inhaling sharply as she hurriedly—but at the same time gracefully—reseats herself; of Benjamin slamming the lid of his laptop down in anger and frustration and denial.

Mike was _murdered_ in prison and there is no one to blame for it but Harvey. Donna didn’t say it, but Harvey knows it well enough: it is without a doubt Frank Gallo who ended Mike’s life. 

Frank Gallo who snuffed out Mike’s fire, who stomped on all of Mike’s dreams—the selfsame dreams Mike gave up for Harvey’s sake, to save Harvey.

And no matter how hard he tries, Harvey just can’t stop thinking about it. His mind won’t shut down, overloading him with image after image of Mike’s (last) days in prison.

Harvey remembers storming into Danbury, and he remembers the seething, white-hot _rage_ that filled him when he heard Mike say Frank Gallo’s name. He remembers Mike _begging_ him not to do anything because it would just make Gallo come at him “twice as hard.” 

_(Oh, how he regrets not listening to Mike now.)_

Most of all he remembers his resulting confrontation with Gallo. He remembers Gallo’s words, all too clearly, as though Gallo is hear now and bellowing those very words into his ear: _“I already have what I want. Which is knowing that every time your phone rings, you’re gonna ask yourself, is this the call where you find out that the guy who’s in here for_ you, _is never coming out.”_

At the end of the day, Frank Gallo is a man who only targeted Mike in the first place because of a grudge against _Harvey_. The thought—the _knowledge_ —that _he_ caused Mike’s death makes him sick.

Mike died only because he was friends with Harvey. Hell, Mike had only been in prison _at all_ because of Harvey. Recently, it’s beginning to look more and more like every negative thing that happened in Mike’s life is because of Harvey.

Harvey shudders violently, resisting the almost overwhelming urge to retch. He has always prided himself for his ability to close any situation, but he lost the most important case of all and it is Mike who paid the ultimate price for it. 

Because the fact of the matter is that Harvey was Mike’s _mentor_ , the one person Mike should have been able to trust and depend on unconditionally—and instead Harvey is responsible for ruining Mike’s life.

He wasn’t able to keep Mike out of prison, he wasn’t able to protect Mike from Gallo, he wasn’t able to do anything at all helpful. He hadn’t even been able to just _be there_ for Mike. Instead he flailed around uselessly while Mike bled to death in prison.

Oh god, Harvey thinks, bile rising up his throat. Mike died _alone_. Mike died without anyone by his side, without anyone at all.

The sheer poignancy of that reality threatens to push Harvey under the water and suffocate him. He can barely breathe through the agony, the fire. Harvey feels his heart splinter in two—in three, four, a dozen, a _million_ pieces—and he can’t put them back together again. He doesn’t even know how to _begin_ fixing himself.

(Mike would have known how to. Mike would have been able to look him in the eye, smile reassuringly in that naive way of his, and pick him back up.)

(But Mike is gone now.)

It just seems _impossible_ that Mike is _gone,_ that Harvey will never again be able to pick up the phone and hear Mike’s voice greet him from the other end of the line. He will never get to quote old movies at Mike and hear a relevant quote in return again. 

He will never be interrupted in his office as he is working again, his door slamming open as he looks up only to come face-to-face with Mike rushing into the room, late—one of his many ridiculous excuses already prepared on the tip of his tongue. He will never see Mike’s stupid skinny ties or his cheap wrinkled suits again. He will never see Mike spread out lazily on his couch again, highlighter cap peeking out of his lips and briefs in hand. He will never again see Mike’s eyes brighten and his face light up when he finds a case-winning loophole; never again have Mike curl his hand into a fist and raise it expectantly, waiting for a fist bump no one else would have ever been daring enough to even ask for.

He will never see Mike again, _period._

And after six years of _Mike Mike Mike,_ the mere thought of a future _without_ Mike crushes him.

With only a few words Donna has brought down Harvey’s entire world. Mike has, somehow, become the single most important person in Harvey’s life, and to _lose_ him now... He can’t. He just _can’t lose Mike._

But he has lost Mike, and Harvey... Harvey doesn’t know how to go on anymore. Superman’s clothes no longer fit him. He’s gotten so used to their dynamic of Batman and Robin, of Butch and Sundance, that he doesn’t _want_ to know how to just be _himself_ again—how to be _Harvey_ instead of _Harvey-and-Mike_ ).

_(Fist rule of lawyering: don’t ask questions you don’t know the answer to. Second rule of lawyering: don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to._ Well, Harvey doesn’t want to know how to exist without Mike.)

For the first time in his life Harvey knows what it means to be desperate for a second chance. (If only he told Mike just how much Mike means to him, if only he fought harder to keep Mike from taking the fall for him, if only he kept Mike safe. If only he’d been _better_. If only, if only, if only.)

For the first time in his life Harvey lets himself succumb to the all-consuming grief. Because Mike— _Mike,_ his associate, his friend, his goddamn family—is _gone gone gone_ and he can’t bring him back.


	2. fate is pulling you miles away (but you’re here in my heart)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is taken from Rewrite the Stars in The Greatest Showman, sung by Zac Efron and Zendaya.

 

Harvey isn’t sure how he manages to make it to his condo after that. All he is aware of is the constant _buzzing_ in his mind, making him numb to everything and everyone. He walks in a daze, unlocking his door and stumbling through his home.

The darkness and emptiness of his penthouse only serves to reinforce the fact that Mike is gone for good (he can’t even _think_ the word “dead” to himself). He will never get the chance now to have Mike to come home to, to wake up to.

Things seemed improbable, if not downright impossible, back when Mike was alive and engaged to Rachel, but now... God, Harvey just wishes Mike is still alive. He doesn’t care for having Mike to himself so long as Mike is happy (and _breathing_ ).

But he won’t ever have Mike in his life again, and he doesn’t know how to hold himself together in the wake of Donna’s news.

Before today, he never once considered the thought that he will have to live his life without Mike. And now that it is coming true...

He doesn’t think he even _can_ live without Mike. 

He pours himself glass after glass of scotch, tipping back his tumbler and letting the thick liquid swirl around in his mouth and slide down his throat like silk. There is no end in sight; he drinks and drinks and drinks until he can’t think anymore. Until at last the chaos and disaster of _Mike’s fucking dead_ ceases and he slips into the abyss of unconsciousness, sprawled awkwardly across his couch (like Mike has more than once been, he can’t help but remember with a pang in his chest).

But with slumber comes the dreams, and then the nightmares. Not even in the grip of sleep is Harvey allowed a relief from the memories, from the sadness.

Because Mike isn’t coming back, and Harvey _needs_ Mike.

::

_“Mike,” Harvey gasps, opening his eyes to a world of velvety blue. The darkness of the ocean blankets him, but not so much that he cannot see what is right in front of him: Mike Ross floating in front of him, baby blue eyes somehow even brighter and more vivid against the backdrop of the sea._

_Mike smiles and swims closer towards him. “Harvey,” he murmurs, voice fonder than Harvey has ever heard in reality and it kills him to know he can only ever have this in his wildest fantasies. “Let’s go.”_

_“Go... where?”_

_“Anywhere,” Mike whispers throatily. “Everywhere. Let’s go out into the world,” he declares, all wide-eyed and smiling as he imagines it._

_Harvey doesn’t think the blue of his eyes has ever been brighter than it is now, and it only makes him fall for the younger man all over again. The truth is, he falls harder in love with Mike everyday._

_Harvey laughs. “Let’s go,” he agrees eagerly. “I’ll go anywhere, if it’s with you.” He has never been so honest. ‘Take me with you always,’ are the words that burn on his lips. ‘Take me wherever you want. Just don’t leave me behind.’_

_Mike beams at him, and in the water, his hand searches for Harvey’s. Mike laces their fingers together and tugs Harvey further out into the sea. “It’s waiting for us.”_

_“And what is ‘it’?” Harvey asks, his eyes devouring the sight of Mike as he glides through the water, tousled blond hair plastered across his forehead._

_“Who knows?” Mike answers with a carefreeness that makes Harvey’s heart leap and soar. Mike’s twinkling eyes and cheeky grin invite Harvey to follow him, and so Harvey smiles as he swims after Mike, never looking back. “Let’s find out.”_

::

Harvey gulps in air as he awakes and Mike escapes his grasp. He keeps his eyes stubbornly closed as he reaches out desperately, trying to catch the glimpses of Mike again—and he yells in frustration when he fails. 

_Mike. Mike, Mike, Mike,_ he chants, punctuated by his fists slamming into his pillows. He just wants Mike.

_Mike._

He thinks of Mike again, thinks of Mike’s vibrant blue eyes and undying bright smile. He thinks of the two of them, of their ability to work together without clashing, of their quote-offs and witty banter, and eventually his eyes droop shut again. 

::

He is welcomed once more by Mike’s playful smile.

_“You’re here,” Mike says gratefully. He stands from his perch on the swing, extending an arm out to Harvey. “I’m glad.”_

_“Of course I’m here,” Harvey says quietly, earnestly and without restraint. There is only sincerity in his voice, and it makes Mike smile shyly up at him. Harvey smiles back and accepts Mike’s hand._

_This is what he wants, he thinks. Mike’s hand in his own, forever._

_Mike pulls Harvey forward and gestures at the swing beside his, and together they sit down, swinging leisurely._

_Mike’s hands wrap around the chains on either side of him, basking in the feel of the wind pushing through and ruffling his hair. “I’ve missed you,” he says softly, closing his eyes and leaning his head against one chain. “It’s not prison itself that destroys me the most. It’s living without you.”_

_‘I’ve missed you, too,’ Harvey wants to say. Instead he goes with a different tactic, trying to reassure Mike—he wants nothing more than to erase the vulnerability from Mike’s face and voice. “You’re not without me,” Harvey says, his voice breaking. “I’m here for you always, Mike. You know that, right?”_

_“I wish I could believe you,” Mike whispers, beginning to cry, and Harvey’s chest tightens painfully. “I want to, I do. Because I don’t want you to leave me again.”_

_“I’d never leave you, Mike,” he says. “We’ll always have us to fall back on.”_

_“But it’s not enough. The memory isn’t enough,” Mike says. “Or maybe it’s this—us—that isn’t enough. Maybe I want more.”_

_“More?” he echoes, heart stampeding in his chest. Hope swells in his veins like a virus that will not die. “Tell me what you want, Mike.”_

_“But I’ll never get what I want.” Mike exhales roughly. “You’ll never look at me the same again. I’ll lose you, Harvey, and that... I just can’t. I can’t lose you. Anyone but you. Because you’re all I need.”_

_“I’ll give you anything,” Harvey says without even pausing to think. He needs Mike to believe it, needs Mike to_ know _it deep in his bones. “Anything you want, Mike.”_

_“I want you,” Mike whispers. “I don’t just want your mentorship; I don’t just want your Batman to my Robin. I want a chance, a real chance, at a future together.”_

::

The tumbler falls out of Harvey’s slackening grip, and he cracks both eyes open as the glass shatters and shrieks. He can’t contain his disappointed groan as Mike is torn away from him, yet again. 

He ignores the broken tumbler, ignores the mess on his floor, and he closes his eyes as he begs for Mike to return (to him).

Slowly, sleep claims him once more.

::

_“I think this is my favorite place,” Mike announces, turning around slowly and surveying the familiar furniture and features of Harvey’s office._

_“It is?” Harvey asks with some surprise, his own eyes dragging around the room. He can’t help but wonder what it is that Mike sees in the office—it certainly isn’t anything too special._

_“Yeah,” Mike says. “I love your office. Mostly I love that you always let me waltz in whenever I want to. I love knowing that you’re only a few meters away from me when I work from your couch. I love that Donna always listens in on the intercom. I love that I always feel like we’re all together when I’m in this office, even if we’re not talking to each other or looking at each other.”_

_A small smile grows on Harvey’s face as he listens to Mike ramble on. There is just something about the passionate sound of Mike’s voice that he can never get sick of. He loves listening to Mike. “Yeah,” he agrees; he doesn’t often do sentimentality, but for Mike he apparently does._

_Again and again, Mike is the one exception to his rule. That seems to be the pattern nowadays: all Mike has to do is smile, and Harvey will bend and break any and all of his rules to make Mike happy._

_“I do, too,” Harvey says wistfully. “I wish we could all be together again.”_

_“Me, too,” Mike sighs. He grabs Harvey’s hand and leads him to the far side of the office. Together they look down on the bustling city, bright and awake and noisy with color and life._

_The citylights are blurry from way up here, and the rest of the world seems so small in comparison to this moment, to them. Harvey never wants this to end._

_Mike breathes out a dreamy sigh. “Everywhere looks exactly the same from where we’re standing.”_

_Harvey agrees. “Because you’re here with me,” his voice is but a whisper, but Mike hears it still and his fingers tighten around Harvey’s._

_Mike laughs. “I always knew the great Harvey Specter cared,” he teases. “There was no chance in hell I didn’t get through to you. I have too much charm.”_

_Harvey shakes his head in exasperation but chuckles fondly, never denying it. They both know Mike is right, after all._

_Mike nods with satisfaction at Harvey’s conceding silence. “But you have charm, too—though you already know that. It’s why I enjoy spending time with you so much—because I like to think you let me see the real you. Your mother’s painting, your father’s records, all of it. And I... I just loved getting to know you better. Even this view from your office reminds me of what I will always want.”_

_“And what’s that?” Harvey manages to breathe out through his wonder._

_Mike turns so that he is facing Harvey directly, and he winks at his boss/mentor/equal/friend/everything. Harvey stares back, unable to tear his eyes away—he is enraptured and they both know it. Harvey no longer wants to deny it, how much Mike makes him_ feel _._

_“You.”_

::

Harvey wakes up for the third time, Mike’s name spilling over his lips in a wretched shout. He tosses and turns, craning his neck upwards so that he is staring out of his floor-to-ceiling windows, at the crescent moon high up in the sky.

He falls asleep like that, imagining Mike as he laughs and dances and chases invisible puppies around on the surface of the moon.

::

Harvey dreams of Mike again.

_This time they are on the rooftop of the Pearson Specter Litt building, the wind in their hair and a picnic blanket spread thin beneath them. Mike is nestled close to Harvey’s side, turning into Harvey and hiding his face in Harvey’s chest. Harvey wraps an arm around Mike’s shoulders and tugs him closer, gratefully inhaling the all-too-familiar scent of Mike._

_“Have I ever told you that I fucking love you?” Harvey breathes as he holds Mike tightly, terrified Mike will disappear and slip out of his life forever if he lets go. He is frantic that he tells Mike at least once; there is a burning_ need _in his gut that Mike knows the truth._

_He drags Mike up so that they are face-to-face; so that he can see the relaxed, content look of sleepy-eyed bliss on Mike’s face. He wants Mike to look like that always—like everything is right in the world; like he has everything he’s ever dreamed of at his fingertips._

_As soon as Harvey’s words register in Mike’s mind, Mike straightens, becoming alert at once. His eyes widen and he stares back at Harvey in stunned surprise, his breath caught in his throat. “Only in my dreams,” Mike answers after a moment, his voice carried by the winds. “So many times. Every night for the last six years.”_

_“Then I’ll say it in daylight for the first time,” Harvey says, “because I do, Mike, I fucking love you. God, I love you so much that it hurts. And every time I see you, I fall deeper and deeper in love with you. What if I love you forever?”_

_Mike smiles up at him, and Harvey can’t help but think that it is a sight even more breathtaking than the view of the rising sun from the rooftop. “That’d be perfect, because I—”_

::

He wakes up before he can hear Mike say it back. _Please,_ he begs—to the gods and to himself. He wants to hear it from Mike, even if only in his fantasies.

He squeezes his eyes shut and imagines Mike as he once lay on Harvey’s couch, without a care in the world—as though Harvey’s condo is his home, as though he finds safety here. He imagines Mike’s sleep-mussed hair, imagines the hazy color of Mike’s blue eyes when he’s just escaped dreamland, imagines the lack of tension stringing through his body. 

Early in the morning, Mike is nothing but himself, easy and peaceful and without the worries of their backstabbing world of corporate law. 

He remembers the way Mike closed his eyes and exhaled in giddy satisfaction as he made his way through Harvey’s condo as though he _belongs_ there, the sun streaming in through the windows and making his skin gleam golden. He remembers the way Mike took his cereal, plentiful and sugary and childish and so _him_.

He remembers thinking, _I want you. I wish you were mine. I wish I could have you, hold you, tell you I love you. I want you to stay forever._

And then he remembers telling Mike to go back to Rachel. He remembers regretting it.

::

Distantly, he wonders if Mike knew; knew that Harvey cared, knew that Harvey has never been proud of another person before Mike, knew that Harvey can never regret hiring Mike, knew that Mike is still the best thing that has ever happened to Harvey.  
 ****

He hopes the answer is yes. He hopes that, at the very least, Mike faded knowing that he is loved.

Because _god_ does Harvey love him, so fucking much. And there is nothing he regrets more than never letting Mike know how he feels while he still had the chance.

::

Harvey drifts off to sleep again, one filled with wisps of Mike and their time together. This time, he grabs hold of Mike by the wrist—the phantom pulse of Mike’s heartbeat throbbing against the pads of his fingers and mocking Harvey—and doesn’t let go.


	3. I hear you in the quiet (I see you when I’m in the dark)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is taken from lyrics of the song Out Loud by Gabbie Hanna.

Sometime late in the night, long after the rest of New York has gone to sleep and long after Harvey should be resting, he is jostled awake by something that is no longer real.

The overwhelming presence of Mike in a condo too big and too empty is startling—though, really, in hindsight, it shouldn’t be so surprising. Still, it grips him with a cold terror when he wakes up to a whisper in the night and finds himself all alone, his heart racing and his hands curled tight around his sheets.

It grips him with terror when he looks beside himself at the empty space on his bed and wishes with a _soul-crushing_ intensity that Mike were there. It grips him with terror when he realizes, with complete lucidity and coherence, that _he will never get over this._

He will never get over Mike.

And that shouldn’t taste as honest as it does. That shouldn't _hurt_ as much as it does. Mike’s gone, his previously _already_ far-off chances for a future with them together will soon be buried alongside Mike’s body, and he can’t accept that.

He scrambles out of bed, spurred on by something that makes his bones tremble in his body. He doesn’t know what’s possessing him, what’s ruling his mind, but he can’t ignore the raw and honest fear that floods him at the thought of a life without Mike. A life forever mourning Mike, unable to escape Mike’s shadow.

So he does what Harvey Specter does best when faced with things he cannot have: he denies. He denies, and denies, and denies. 

He buries everything deep in the farthest recesses of his mind and he lets himself loose on all his belongings, things he once held so dear. Now he can’t think of anything but _I want this to stop_ as he sweeps books off the shelves, topples artwork over everywhere, leaves cracks in physical objects like he refuses to leave one in his heart.

(The damage is already done. He refuses to think of that, though.)

His vision clears only when he is done, and when he lays eyes on the wreckage of his home, he can only feel _tired._ It is a bone-weary exhaustion that drags his muscles and leaves him sagging in defeat.

He has broken everything, now.

He returns to bed, feeling not at all satisfied, feeling not at all less shattered.

::

Later that morning, when the sun is arisen and the city is brimming with a liveliness that does not find Harvey within his palace in the sky, his alarm is loud and sharp in the silence of the condo, so empty now. 

It’s not as if Mike lived here, yet somehow his influence still reaches this far. Harvey can still feel Mike’s loss deeply, nothing has changed that, no matter what he hoped in the hazy hours between midnight and dawn.

His hand strikes down on the alarm clock and he lets himself sink into a noisy sleep once more. It’s easier when he’s dreaming; easier to believe that Mike is still alive, and that everything is okay, when he’s surrounded by visions of Mike everywhere he turns. It’s easier than dragging his feet around a condo enveloped in stillness.

So he sleeps again.

::

He doesn’t wake up fully until almost noon, when Donna is hovering over him with a disapproving frown on her face. “Get your ass ready,” she says to him as soon as his eyes crack open. “The funeral’s in three hours.”

Harvey blinks, his mind slow on the uptake on account of the hangover of a lifetime bearing down on him.

Donna sighs heavily and loudly. “Funeral?” she asks expectantly, one sleek eyebrow arching. 

Harvey closes his mind, and the words _“I’m so sorry. Mike’s gone”_ ring in his mind again. That’s right. Mike. The funeral. 

Goddamnit.

(Nowadays his dreams are paradise and his reality is a nightmare.)

“I don’t want to go,” is all he can say to Donna now, voice low and raspy. 

Donna’s lips purse even as her gaze softens minutely. “Harvey...” she begins pityingly, as if she can ever understand the absolute sorrow drilling into his mind right this second, and Harvey grinds his teeth together. “You have to keep it together. Mike wouldn’t have wanted you to spiral down into your dark place like this.”

“Well, Donna, Mike’s _dead_ , so forgive me if I don’t give a _fuck_ what he would have wanted,” Harvey snaps furiously, closing off now that he is in front of other people again, even if it _is_ only Donna.

Donna blinks furiously, but still Harvey can see the tears starting to brew there, and he thinks, _Oh, that’s right. Donna lost Mike, too. Of course she understands._

“Harvey,” she says again, and her voice breaks on the word, “please. If not for Mike, then do it for yourself.”

_If not for Mike._ Right.

As if he would ever want to disappoint Mike.

Harvey swallows back the flare of pain at the thought, and manages to pull himself up so that he is sitting upright. Donna is already dressed in a black dress and black heels and a black wide-brimmed hat, and the image makes his lips twist.

Black. Black, black, black. Death.

Because Mike is dead.

“Could you...” Harvey’s voice is too croaky for his liking, so he clears his throat and begins again, “Could you get my black suit out for me while I shower, please?”

Donna closes her eyes at the sound of the word “please” coming from a voice that rarely ever says it. When her eyes reopen, her lashes are sticky and wet with tears and her eyes are starting to redden. “I will,” she agrees without complaint, even though they both know that normally she would kick up a fuss.

There is nothing normal about this situation.

Harvey smiles shakily at her in gratitude and pushes off the bed, legs wobbling as they carry his weight to the en-suite bathroom. He stands under the shower-head and flicks the water on, the temperature mercilessly hot and mercifully distracting. The heat is probably scalding his skin, but better that than leave his mind open to thinking about Mike’s funeral, Harvey figures.

At least this way the scars can heal.

Maybe.

He stays there with the water pelting down on his skin for longer than is necessary. It’s only when his skin has become alarmingly red and his ears are roaring with the sound of rushing water as well as blood that he shuts the shower off. He climbs out of the shower and dries himself off, stepping into his boxers and wrapping the towel around his waist before exiting the bathroom.

The clothes are spread out on his bed, and the familiar scent of coffee has already permeated his room, so he estimates he’s been in the shower for an approximate of a half hour.

Once he’s resolved himself to it, it’s easier than he initially assumed to go through the motions. He makes certain to avoid the no doubt plentiful evidence of his breakdown hours ago, keeping his eyes blind to the debris that dances at the edges of his vision. 

It’s only when he comes across the sight of Donna at his kitchen isle, sipping on a cup of coffee and sifting through his cupboards for something to cook for breakfast, that he freezes.

Because past the cartons of egg and the boxes of pancake batter and the packets of bacon he can see a multi-colored box that seems entirely out of place. He has no idea how he missed it when he was sweeping his condo for reminders of Mike to trash—after all, it _is_ out of place.

It was Mike who bought it, he reminisces distractedly. Mike who showed up one day with too-sugary cereal and an ear-splitting grin “just because.” Mike who spooned far too much of the cereal to be healthy into a bowl and then poured himself some of Harvey’s (healthy) milk. Mike who smiled at Harvey over the box of cereal and said, eyes sparkling in that way of his, “You should stock up on cereal, Harvey. Not all of us are too old to help ourselves to sugar every once in a while.”

And Harvey laughed. He laughed but he agreed, trying not to grin too wide, because what Mike _didn’t_ say, what came _implied_ , was that Mike would be coming over again. 

Two weeks later Mike ended up in prison, and the newly-bought box of cereal remained untouched in the back of Harvey’s cupboard.

”Harvey?” It’s Donna who’s standing in front of him now, eyes wide with worry, but it’s Mike’s voice he hears. It’s Mike he sees when he closes his eyes and imagines waking up to on late days like this; it’s Mike he sees draped over the counter, smile cheeky as he gulps down his cereal and insists Harvey try some.

Harvey stumbles backwards, trying and failing to regain his balance as Mike laughs heartily at him and slides the second cup of coffee across the bar towards where Harvey would have been sitting.

_Would have been_ , because that can never happen now.

“Harvey...” Donna murmurs, and Harvey can’t help himself. He caves in on himself against the solid wall behind him, wishing it could be Mike standing with him now, ready and willing to catch him should he fall.

And he falls, but there’s no one there.

_There’s no one there._

Harvey bites back the first sob but can’t quite stop the onslaught of tears that follows it. He breaks down finally, not caring that Donna is standing right there, not caring about anything but the fact—the _reality_ —that _Mike isn’t here._  

He’s alone save for Donna, getting ready for _Mike’s funeral_ , and he _can’t_. 

He _can’t_ do it, any of it. He _can’t_ pretend he’s fine, _can’t_ pretend he can ever go on without Mike Ross. Because he _can’t_ go on. And he _isn’t_ fine, _nothing’s_ fine.

Mike is dead, and he isn’t okay.

Mike is _dead,_ and why is this so damn hard?

He shoves Donna away, vision blurry and red and black and blind as he races across the room, desperate to regain control of himself but not sure how. He can hear someone calling his name, someone crying, but all he can focus on is what _isn’t_ there, what he _can’t_ hear.

He can’t hear Mike.

He grabs the first thing his hands latch onto (an empty tumbler, he’ll see later, still lying around from last night) and _throws_. He hears a crash, heard a million shards of glass falling down on hard floor, and he hears a scream.

He still can’t hear Mike. 

He grabs another tumbler (they’re everywhere, aren’t they?) and lets it loose again. The glass soars across the room and breaks against the wall. He knows Donna’s behind him, so he knows not to aim there, but this is easy, this is fine. It helps him, soothes him, calms him. He can imagine Mike is right here with him, can imagine Mike is the wall and the tumblers are all the words he never had the courage to say to Mike.

_I love you,_ he thinks as he pulls his arm back and pitches another tumbler forward. _IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou._ The rush is there and it’s intense, it’s _real,_ realer than anything else, and he revels in it. It’s a thrill to know that he can affect the physical world in a way Mike affected his own world.

There’s more screaming, and Donna is next to him in an instant, prying the next tumbler out of his white-knuckled grip and throwing her arms around him, body wracking against his. She’s crying and begging, he realizes, but the realization is distant and faint and so much less real than the feeling of letting his tumblers break in his stead.

He pushes her away again, shaking off her hands, and takes a few steps away so he won’t hurt her. He scrambles for another tumbler, desperate to _letgoletgoletgo_ because at least that’s _something—_ because he can’t let _Mike_ go but at least he can do this, whatever this is. 

Three tumblers later he starts yelling, starts voicing the thoughts instead of keeping them locked inside. _I’m so sorry Mike,_ he thinks, and then says it aloud as he throws the next one.

And it helps, it does. It helps more than anything.

By the time all his tumblers are destroyed, the pieces strewn all over one side of his living room, he’s sunk onto the floor, knees pressed onto the ground and face pressed into his hands. 

He has nothing else to throw, but he keeps crying, keeps shouting until his voice is hoarse, and he can almost see Mike’s face, can almost feel Mike’s stern but kind and reassuring touch on his shoulders. He can almost hear Mike murmuring in his ear: _It’s okay, Harvey, it’s okay. Everything will be okay now._

(But it’s not okay. Nothing’s okay. Nothing ever will be okay again.)

::

Harvey is falling apart right in front of her, and for all of her bravado Donna doesn’t know what to do. 

All she _can_ do is help him to his feet and hold him up so he doesn’t collapse again. All she _can_ do is stand with him in the middle of all the chaos he wreaked (glass, glass, glass) and wait for the storm to pass. 

_(When she looks around, all Donna can see are shards of glass littered around Harvey’s home—but, Donna thinks, none of the tumblers are as broken as Harvey is._

_Because everywhere she looks there is only devastation; beyond the glass tumblers, more destruction lies in the form of possessions stained, possessions shattered, possessions crushed, possessions destroyed._

_The chess set Mike gave him, the same marble and granite one Mike gifted him for his birthday two years ago—one of the most expensive things Mike had ever bought—now lies cracked on the floor, the pieces scattered haphazardly. Before that birthday, Donna hadn’t even been aware that Harvey occasionally enjoys a good game of chess or two; it is a testament to how well Mike knew Harvey, how deeply he pried into the older man’s life—how deeply Harvey_ let _him pry._

_On the other side of the room are cans of beer that have been smashed so many times over they are badly misshapen and hardly recognizable. Harvey has never liked beer as much as Mike did._

_Near the bedroom threshold, an entire row of books are collapsed on the floor; all books Mike recommended, with pages ripped from their spines and hard covers bent at odd angles. Even a few of what she knows to be Mike and Harvey’s favorite movies to watch together have been pried from their rack and thrown into the trash._

_His entire condo is a reflection of how desperately Harvey has tried to erase every trace of Mike Ross over the previous day; erase anything that might remind Harvey of the friend he will never see again._

_Donna can’t quite wrap her head around it. She’s been trying to_ preserve _every memory of Mike she still has, while it seems Harvey has in contrast tried to rid himself of it all. Harvey just wants to_ forget _—to stop hurting with every breath he takes—and she can_ see _that so clearly, but how can you forget everything that you are and everything that you dream of?_

_Even more than that, though, what she can’t wrap her head around is the heartache mirrored in every torn page, every ruined object, every overturned furniture, every jagged edge._

_Around them everything lies broken; it is a scene of absolute wreckage. It is as though a massacre has occurred upon everything Mike Ross loved and touched. All of it now lies irreparably damaged._

_Just like Harvey.)_

“He’s _gone_ , Donna,” Harvey rasps a few long eternities later, and Donna thinks it’s the most heartbreaking thing she’s ever heard. “Mike was family, and family isn’t supposed to...” he breaks off, face crumpling.

Donna doesn’t know whether she’s crying for Mike, who’s dead, or for Harvey, who’s alive, only that it _hurts_.

“He’s gone!” Harvey yells, and this, Donna thinks, this she is used to. This is how Harvey copes: by shoving away all of the hurt and letting it manifest into anger, misguided as it is. “He left us, Donna! He left _me_!”

Donna has never been terrified of—or _for_ —Harvey; he’s never given her reason to _be_ terrified before. But standing here now in front of him, watching as he loses himself, she is filled with terror.

Donna doesn’t think she can handle losing _both_ Mike and Harvey.

::

In the car on the way to the funeral service, Donna lets the silence exist for as long as twenty minutes before she gives in to the temptation to speak. There’s an idea in her mind that she’s had for a while now, and seeing Harvey lose control that morning was the final push she needed to cement her decision as the right one.

“Harvey,” she starts off tentatively, “earlier, when you—”

“It won’t happen again,” Harvey interrupts, and it kills Donna that Harvey thinks he isn’t allowed to let go every now and then—even if it also killed her to watch him that morning, she knows he needed it then.

“No, that’s not what I was going to say,” she says gently. “It’s just that you told me that Mike was family, but...”

“But nothing,” he says sharply. “Mike _was_ family. I meant that.”

“I know,” Donna consoles, because yes, she does know. She’s known since perhaps the second month of Mike’s tenure as Harvey’s associate. She hesitates, but her mind is made up and so she forges onwards on a spark of boldness: “But Harvey, you always talk like we’re your only family. _We’re not_. You have another one, and you need to reconcile with them.”

Harvey’s face closes off instantly. “Donna,” he begins, voice low with warning, “I’m not gonna—” His protest is cut off when she raises a hand.

“Enough is enough. You need to go make things right with your mother.”

“Donna—”

“Mike never had a chance to do that,” Donna says, and Harvey falls silent instantly. She knows it’s wrong to use Mike against him, but she also knows that he needs to do this for himself—he needs it in much the same way he needed a chance to break down that morning, unhealthy as it might seem to some. He needs his real family. “His parents were already dead. He didn’t have the chance to say sorry, or to tell them he loves them—but you still do, Harvey.”

Harvey wants nothing more than to _scream_ at her. He wants to tell her, as bluntly as possible so there is no mistaking his message, exactly what he thinks of her tactic; wants to tell her that it’s the lowest fucking blow she could have gone for in the wake of Mike’s death, wants to tell her that she’s being unfair and playing dirty and that _he won’t stand for it_. 

But it’s also a smart move on Donna’s part, and he can acknowledge as much when he distances himself from the subject and looks at it from a lawyer’s point of view.

“Forgive her, Harvey,” Donna says softly but firmly. “ _Tell_ her you forgive her—while you still have the chance. Because yes, Mike’s gone, and he’s not coming back. And yes, Harvey, you will never get to tell him all the things you wanted to. But your mother, she’s still alive, still _here_ , and you can still fix things with her.”

Harvey laughs then, because _of course_ Donna knows. Of course she knows he loves Mike. Of course she knows how much he regrets never saying anything, never taking the plunge and telling Mike he loves him.

And, Harvey realizes finally, the worst part is that she’s _right_. 

He’s lost the chance to ever tell Mike that much, but he hasn’t lost the chance with his mother. And he has forgiven her, he really has—but if he doesn’t tell her that now, he might never again have the opportunity to.

He silences his pride and his stubbornness and nods once.

Donna smiles at him, and he tries to smile back. He doesn’t quite manage, but it’s something. He’s trying, at least.

::

They arrive at the funeral service a few short minutes later, and Harvey becomes aware of the falling rain around them only after he disembarks the car and walks the short distance remaining to their destination with Donna.

He lets himself _feel_ the water rushing down his skin in a way he would never normally stand for, a bitter irony bubbling up from inside his chest. The day of Mike Ross’ funeral, and it’s raining.

(It rained down on Mike’s grandmother’s funeral, too, Harvey remembers now.)

Rather cliché, Harvey thinks, but at the same time it’s so fitting. (Even the world knows to mourn the loss of Michael James Ross.)

In Harvey’s eyes, though, the world has since stopped spinning. And he doubts it will start spinning again any time soon, so long as Mike and his infectious grin and his cocky laugh and his all-seeing eyes are swept beneath the rug of Death.

Once, years ago on the night of his gram’s death, Mike told Harvey this: _“Did you know that when it is raining, it’s because the angels are crying?”_

Harvey hears those words now, pounding into him over and over again. In Mike’s voice, because Mike’s voice won’t—can’t—escape his head.

_“They say the heavens are grieving for the lives lost.”_

Mike’s body is already cold now with the grip of oblivion, but his ghost still haunts Harvey. His memories. His smile, his frown, his anger, his sadness. All of it.

Harvey can’t bring himself to shut Mike out, and he realizes this with a crushing _certainty_ as he stands outside the funeral service, trying to brave the idea of heading in. 

And what a fool he was to have ever believed he could do so, because he’s never been able to before, and why should that change now?

_(What a fool he was to have thought that a few lost tokens and mementos and he’d be healed. No, the truth is he’s never going to be able to let Mike go, whether or not he’s destroyed the physical keepsakes of their time together.)_

::

Most of the service passes by in a blur; Harvey can see the pastor’s mouth moving, but he can’t make out the words. Instead he scans the people who’ve gathered today. Aside from Trevor, the blonde girl Mike dated briefly (Jenny, Harvey thinks her name might be), and another girl with brown-blonde hair, everyone else is from Pearson Specter Litt. 

Surprisingly, even people who’ve already quit PSL—either before or after Mike’s conviction (after Mike took a deal, Harvey corrects himself)—are there. Most are previous associates who worked in the bullpen alongside Mike—the blonde baby-faced associate whose name may or may not begin with H, the dark-skinned associate who testified for Mike, even the one who manipulated and bested Mike in their mock trial their first year—but there are also a few partners.

It’s bittersweet, Harvey thinks ruefully, that it is in death that Mike brings all of these unlikely people together. 

(Mike would have probably laughed at the irony, but Harvey isn’t laughing.)

::

Harvey doesn’t speak. 

In the end, he can’t bring himself to. Even the thought of standing up there, of opening the gates to everything Mike Ross has ever made him feel... it scares him more than anything else ever has. And besides, their memories are his alone; their memories are private, not for anyone else to know and judge.

Eulogies, Harvey decides, are not for the dead. Eulogies are for those left behind, for the living, and when Harvey finally does give in to the building tsunami of anguish in his lungs, when he finally does open up—and not in the way he opened up to Donna earlier (harsh and brutal and _accusing_ ), but rather in a way that is real and true with more crying and less shouting—he wants it to be for Mike and Mike alone.

So he stays seated and shakes his head when Donna looks at him expectantly. She looks disappointed, and he can practically hear the words “Mike deserves better than you hiding behind your shield, Harvey” on the tip of her tongue, but she says nothing. 

He turns away. He doesn’t have to explain himself to her.

Instead, he watches Rachel walk up to the podium, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks puffy as her hands desperately clutch a handkerchief—she is the embodiment of grief—and he listens to her speak. He listens to her regale the assembled mourners with tale after tale of Mike Ross the fiancé. Halfway through her speech, Rachel starts to weep, but she manages to push through to the end, stumbling over her words all the while.

And when Harvey lets everything Rachel is saying drift into his ears, when he hears her stories of the man who loved her more than anything, when he hears about lazy mornings with breakfast-in-bed and tired evenings snuggled together on the couch, Harvey’s armor chips away piece by piece.

But the familiar pull of jealousy doesn’t stir, because all he can do when he listens to Rachel’s words is smile sadly. The only feeling that invades him is a bitter sort of regret, because Mike will never have any of that again. Because Frank Gallo took all of those harried afternoons and midnight snacks and comfortable days in away from Mike.

Because Frank Gallo took _everything_ away from Mike; every single one of his hopes and dreams and chances and opportunities. Mike’s future.

It’s all gone. 

::

Harvey’s eyes are dry until the very end. He doesn’t cry throughout Rachel’s speech _(Mike gave me the world, and ever since the day he first asked me out I have wanted to walk down the altar towards him, as impossible a dream as it is now)_ , doesn’t cry through Donna’s _(Mike Ross never gave up on trying to make me smile, whether it was by buying me my favorite coffee or sending me flowers whenever someone had pissed me off)_ , or Louis’ _(He may not have had the degree to prove it, but Mike was a better lawyer than most others I’ve encountered; not only was he an unmatched genius, but he also cared about all of his clients, and more than anything else, that was what made him great)_ , or Trevor’s _(Mike was my best friend not because of his intelligence or similar sense of humor but because of his kindness—his patience knows no bounds, and I will always be grateful to have had him in my life)_. 

He doesn’t cry even when it’s all over and the pastor speaks the last of his words. 

He doesn’t cry when Mike’s coffin is finally lowered into the ground, and he doesn’t cry when the pastor motions for them to each sprinkle a handful of petals (peonies, Mike’s favorite) over the closed coffin—closed, because Rachel didn’t want to see her fiancé dead and although Harvey didn’t originally agree with her he’s glad for it now; he doesn’t think he’d be able to stay composed if he had to face Mike’s closed eyes and (deathly) pale skin and still chest.

He doesn’t cry when the robed men start shoveling dirt into the hole, covering Mike’s coffin and removing it from sight. 

He doesn’t cry. He can’t, because if he does start crying he knows he won’t be able to _stop_.

So he doesn’t cry, but he does hurt. 

And people will look at him, and they will see his somber expression and emotionless facade—and they won’t understand. Donna won’t understand, Jessica won’t understand, Louis won’t understand, Rachel won’t understand. _No one_ will understand.

No one will understand how badly he hurts, or how much he blames himself. No one will understand that when he looks at Mike’s lowered coffin, he sees a red cross over the life he once yearned for; he sees a tomb for everything he and Mike could have had together, in a future the stars have ripped away from him. No one will understand how much he wishes, prays, for something he can no longer see, touch, _have_. 

And no one will understand that though his eyes are dry, his heart is aching and breaking and _bleeding_ for Mike Ross, now forever lost to him.


	4. I was scared of letting go (I know I needed you)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is taken from the song Say You Won't Let Go by James Arthur.

****“Harvey.”

Harvey sits quietly at the end of one of the pews, eyes fixed on the mismatched patch of dirt covering Mike’s coffin. The funeral service is long over, but he can’t bring himself to move. He’s too drained to stand—and anyway, he doesn’t have anywhere to go, anywhere to _be_.

If this were any other week, he’d already be in his car, on the drive to Danbury. If this were any other week, he’d be only an hour away from sitting across from Mike and trading joke after joke, watching as the light slowly returned to Mike’s eyes.

“Harvey.”

This light is gone forever now. He will never be able to look into Mike’s (beautiful, so beautiful) blue eyes and see them shine for him again.

Right now, Harvey would give anything for today to be any other Sunday.

“ _Harvey_.”

He’s jolted back to awareness when Donna waves her hand in his line of sight and clicks her fingers together. Drawn out of his thoughts, he exerts only as much effort as is required to lift his head just enough so that he can see her face; all worried eyes and furrowed brows and pursed lips. 

“What do you want, Donna?” His voice is tired and rough from disuse, but in the stillness they both hear him loud and clear.

Donna smiles sadly back at him, her expression pained. “It’s over, Harvey,” she whispers, squeezing his knee lightly.

He flinches visibly. _It’s over._

He knows that, of course he does, he just... he just doesn’t _want_ it to be over. Because now everyone will be expecting him to start healing, start getting back on his feet, start smiling again, as if there is _any_ reason to smile in a reality where Mike is dead.

And he doesn’t know if he can do that. He doesn’t know if he can bounce back.

The second Mike walked in through that door of the Chilton room all those years ago, squirming in his cheap, off-the-rack suit, he turned Harvey’s life upside down. Mike is, _was_ , a whirlwind in every way possible, disrupting everything he touched in Harvey's world, and now Harvey’s life no longer _works_ without Mike. Mike’s left too many memories, too many imprints of his own life that Harvey doesn’t see how he can ever go back to a time before Mike.

It just isn’t possible. Mike was too important a part of his world; the core.

He can’t _be_ Harvey Specter without Mike anymore, doesn’t even want to be, and that is the truth at its root. New York’s best closer no longer exists as an individual, because for the last few years Mike has been behind and beside him every step of the way. 

Donna must see all of this on his face, because the corners of her lips quiver and her eyes tear up anew. She draws back quickly before she can start crying fully, though, and Harvey is grateful for it, because he knows that if she gives in to the deep-seated sorrow of losing Mike, he won’t be able to hold himself together either.

Donna clears her throat, the noise awkward and sounding out of place in the deafening silence of the cemetery. She reaches into her purse and retrieves a small white piece of paper—upon closer inspection, he realizes it’s a plane ticket. “The plane leaves in three hours,” she says. “I took the liberty of packing you an overnight bag. It’s waiting for you with Ray. I’ve already booked you a room at the Ritz.”

“Donna...” he says, running out of words. He doesn’t know what he can say to something like this.

She smiles again, but this time it’s more genuine. It’s the first real smile he’s seen on her since Mike died, Harvey knows. “Go,” is all she says.

“Thank you,” he says in a voice that’s still not quite his own. What he doesn’t say is, _I don’t know what I’d do without you._

The truth is, maybe he doesn’t say it because the words also come hand-in-hand with _I don’t know what to do without Mike, either._ And he _doesn’t_. Donna may be his anchor and his sword, but Mike is… _was_ (Harvey winces at the correction, an all-too-glaring reminder of Mike’s death) his shield, his guiding light, and everything in between.

Mike was everything. _His_ everything.

(What the fuck is he supposed to do now? What the fuck is he supposed to do without Mike?)

She says nothing more, just presses the ticket into his waiting hands. He doesn’t need to ask her where he’s going; he still remembers, all too well, her words from the car ride: _“You always talk like we’re your only family. We’re not. You have another one, and you need to reconcile with them.”_

(Of course she’d already know he’d agree with her; of course she’d already bought the plane ticket.)

He waits until she’s disappeared into a cab and driven off before finally rising to his feet, his throat choking up. He takes a faltering step forward, towards Mike’s buried coffin, before shaking his head and retreating. He can’t do it.

He doesn’t even know what he’d say, what he _can_ say.

He spares the patch of dirt one more glance before turning and fleeing. He can’t even muster the strength to keep up appearances and make his steps look less like he’s running away.

He manages to keep the tears at bay until he’s safe in the relative privacy of his town car. Ray, knowing better than to interrupt him now, merely plays one of his father’s old jazz records and wisely raises the partition.

::

The next few hours pass in a blurry haze. He doesn’t remember much of it; he doesn’t remember checking into the airport, doesn’t remember the stewardess leading him to his first-class seat, doesn’t remember the taste of wine seeping down his tongue as he flips through the offered manuals, doesn’t remember the takeoff or the landing. 

He doesn’t remember staggering out of the plane, doesn’t remember lugging his overnight bag with him as he hails a cab, doesn’t remember giving the cabbie the hotel’s name. He doesn’t remember giving his name to the receptionist at Ritz Carlton, doesn’t remember walking into his room and throwing himself onto the bed.

He doesn’t remember wondering why Donna booked him a room with two beds instead of a single. He doesn’t remember falling asleep on one of the beds and waking up only to find himself staring down the other bed, doesn’t remember wishing it is Mike he might see lying there underneath the covers of the still-made bed. He doesn’t remember the desperation in his movements and in his voice as he calls the front desk and asks if he could instead have a room with just one bed please and thank you. He doesn’t remember the lady telling him _No, sorry, we’re all booked today_.

He remembers, though, looking into the mirror and hating what he saw reflected back at him. He remembers not recognizing himself. He remembers the need to rid himself of the stench of the funeral filling him like a flood.

He remembers his panic at seeing the tiny sculpture of a panda on the television stand, remembers thinking back to Mike who loved his grandmother’s painting of a panda more than anything else he owned. He remembers feeling like he was drowning.

(He still feels like he’s drowning.)

He remembers wanting— _needing_ —to clear his head, and he remembers shoving on a jacket and a pair of shoes and exiting the room, slamming the door behind him in his haste. He remembers running and running until his feet are sore, and he remembers clutching his phone like a lifeline as he walks the rest of the way to Marcus’ house.

He lingers on the front porch for a couple minutes too long before he shakes his head to clear the indecision. He rings the doorbell and waits only a few seconds more before the door slides open with a silent swish of the wind. His brother’s face stares back at him, expression annoyed at first before he recognizes Harvey and his eyes light up.

“Harvey!” he greets, the corners of his lips quirking upwards. “What on Earth are you doing here?”

Harvey hesitates. “I... Can I come in?” is all he manages to say, nodding at the stretch of foyer behind Marcus.

Marcus blinks, and then nods sheepishly. “Of course,” he agrees easily, stepping aside so Harvey can move past him and into the house. Marcus closes the door behind him. “So...? What brings you out to my neck of the woods?”

Harvey chews his bottom lip, his resolve quickly faltering now that he’s actually here. He contemplates rushing back out the door and yelling at Donna for even suggesting this idea before he sighs and admits, “Do you remember when I told you about Mike Ross?”

Marcus squints at him, considering his words. “Your associate-turned-junior partner?” he asks. Harvey nods once, and Marcus rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Of course I remember,” he laughs. “Pretty much all our conversations were about him. You’ve talked more about Mike than anyone else in your life.”

Harvey frowns a bit, about to protest when he thinks back to their phone calls and realizes, grudgingly, that Marcus is right. But knowing that all of their conversations center around Mike only serves as a punch in the gut. It must show on his face, because Marcus’ expression pinches in concern.

“Harvey?” he questions. “Is everything okay? What happened with Mike?”

“Mike—he—I love him, Marcus,” Harvey says, and the admission lies heavy between them for a tense moment before Marcus breaks out into a grin.

“You finally realized?” Marcus chuckles, and Harvey’s jaw drops. Marcus’ amused laughter only grows in volume at the stunned look on Harvey’s face. “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Marcus chides. “Your feelings for Mike was obvious to me the moment you first mentioned his name. You’re a very private person, Harvey, so when you care enough about someone else to tell _me_ about them, I know it’s serious.”

“Oh,” Harvey mutters. The fact that even Marcus knows how important Mike is to him threatens to unravel him. Because Marcus is right, he _does_ care—

_(“Admit it!” Mike cajoles with a wide, beaming grin that refuses to dim. “You care about me!”_

_“No chance in hell, kid,” Harvey snorts. “But I do care about_ me _, and you’re a reflection of me.”)_

He does care, except he spent every hour of his time with Mike denying it.

His face falls.

Marcus’ does, too. Because although they haven’t seen each other in years now, haven’t kept in touch at all except through the odd short phone call, Harvey is his brother and Marcus is still attuned to Harvey’s many masks. And Harvey has never been more expressive than he is in this moment—Marcus would be pleased, were it not for the complete and utter devastation he can see in every line on his brother’s face. 

Harvey doesn’t let his emotions show much, but when he does... when he does, the world shakes and trembles.

“What’s wrong, Harvey?” Marcus asks gently.

“I can’t...” Harvey pauses briefly, only for a second to regain his bearings, and then he takes in a deep breath. Something in his expression shifts, _solidifies_ , but at the same time his cheeks cave in and his face crumples and a broken sound leaves him. It’s the first time Marcus has seen Harvey drop all his pretenses and let himself be _human_ , and it tears at something inside him. “ _I can’t lose him_ , Marcus. I... I can’t, but I _did_.”

It is the genuine misery on his face that makes Marcus inhale sharply. Because Harvey is a lawyer, the _best damn closer in New York,_ and he has trained himself all his life to keep his cards close to his chest and maintain a tight hold on his feelings. Harvey is well versed in the politicians’ dance; in fact, he can probably play the game better than most politicians can. 

Harvey is a practiced liar—it is one of the things Marcus resents his brother for. So to see Harvey like this now, to see his brother lose control, to be privy to a moment of complete and utter _honesty_... Well, it stumps Marcus.

Because Harvey is usually the best of them, the strongest. But Harvey looks anything _but_ strong in this moment—he looks _vulnerable_ , and it says more than words can that Harvey is even letting Marcus witness his fall from the great Harvey Specter to Harvey-the-human. It is a harsh wake-up call.

“Harvey...” Marcus whispers. He has a thousand different questions, ranging from _What did you do?_ to _What do you mean by you lost him?_ but he doesn’t voice any of them. Instead, he just asks, “What made you realize how much you care?”

Harvey looks at him then, and Marcus visibly flinches. Harvey’s stare is no longer the intelligent, cunning thing it once was—instead his stare is dull now, _empty_. His face is overcome by sorrow, and in his eyes Marcus sees nothing but _I give up._

“He’s dead, Marcus,” the words break free from Harvey’s lips, and Marcus can see how much it rips Harvey up inside just to say it out loud.

The word “dead” is too final in the silence of Marcus’ foyer. It echoes for an extended moment, and neither brother can deny all of the lost opportunities they hear in those few seconds of quiet. Marcus’ heart sinks to his knees. “Oh. _Oh_. Harvey, I...”

He falters, because he doesn’t know what he can even say to that. _I’m sorry? He’s in a better place now?_

He can’t. He can’t say any of it.

“Don’t, Marcus. Just... _don’t_ , please,” Harvey pleads into the awkward pause, and Marcus just nods in agreement and stays silent.

“Yeah, okay,” is all Marcus can think of saying. It’s clear that Harvey doesn’t want to hear the normal useless sympathetic platitudes and condolences. (He has probably already heard them all.) 

It would be insensitive, anyway, because Marcus has never met Mike, no matter how often Harvey spoke of him or how much he wanted to (how much he _still_ wants to, though it is an impossible possibility now) meet the man behind the name.

Because an “I’m sorry” won't help; it never does. 

He might not know Mike personally, but what Marcus _does_ know is how great of an impact Mike Ross made (is still making) on his brother’s life. All Marcus knows is the way Harvey looks now: like his entire world has collapsed around and under him, like he is _lost_ without Mike, like Mike was everything that mattered to him and now Harvey has nothing.

And so when Harvey finally lets go of his last defenses, when Harvey staggers backwards until he crashes into the door and he drops to his knees like that is the last straw, when he bows his head and starts to sob, loudly and raggedly and desperately, all Marcus can do is stride forward and wrap his arms around Harvey’s shoulders. Harvey doesn’t push him away, rather leans into his touch, and Marcus’ heart breaks for his brother.

Marcus says nothing. There’s nothing he _can_ say. 

(There are no words, not for this.)

Instead he just gulps down the instinctual “It’s okay” threatening to leave his mouth (because that’s a lie, it’s _not_ okay, and Marcus doesn’t know if he can even promise that it will _ever_ be okay, not when Harvey’s breaking down against him like this) and pulls Harvey in closer, to his chest, as Harvey’s body shakes with every cry.

“I don’t think I can do this, Marcus,” Harvey whimpers into Marcus’ shoulder, and Marcus barely manages to bite back a strangled sob of his own. “I don’t think I’m strong enough. I can’t... I can’t go back to not having him in my life. I _can’t_.”

Marcus holds his brother even tighter and doesn’t let go.

Another few minutes pass before Harvey speaks again. “He was the best thing that ever happened to me,” he reminisces, soft and sad and so unlike Marcus’ usually infuriatingly proud brother that Marcus has to make a conscious effort to hold back his grimace. Right now, Marcus would give anything to have Harvey’s irritating arrogance return—he hates his brother’s haughtiness, always has, but sadness is just so _wrong_ on his brother. 

“He was... He was cheap and brilliant and caring and _so much better_ than me.” Harvey sounds so small as he talks about Mike, this man who stole his way into every single corner of Harvey’s heart. More than that, Harvey sounds helpless. Marcus hates it.

“He's dead, and I couldn’t save him,” Harvey whispers. “He’s dead, Marcus, and I... I’ve lost Mike, lost _everything_ , and I don’t know what to _do_.”

Harvey sounds too much like despair to be ignored. Marcus imagines Harvey's voice really  _is_ the reflection of despair.

::

Later, when Harvey finally stills and Marcus pulls back carefully, Marcus takes one look at Harvey’s face and knows that every single thing he has ever thought he knew about his brother (uncaring, indifferent, unmovable) is wrong. 

Harvey’s expression is a reflection of his voice, Marcus thinks. There is something bitter about the slash of his frown, something jagged and wounded. Harvey’s frown is like a scar, left behind by the injury of Mike Ross’ death. 

And his eyes, though desolate, wield an edge that cuts through Marcus like a knife, so raw and sharp that Marcus doesn’t even notice the blood it spills from his soul until later that night, long after Harvey has left.

He stares up at the ceiling, studying the blank white canvas as if he might find the answers to the universe’s greatest mysteries hidden behind the paint, and finally feels the first few tears slip down his face.

::

The next day, Harvey wakes up and has to spend close to an hour rolling around in bed before he can force himself to stand up and get ready. But in the bedroom, he takes one look at his reflection in the mirror and wants to scream—he looks like a broken man, like he’s been dragged through hell barefoot, and it makes him hunch over the toilet seat and throw up. 

He goes back to surveying his appearance. His eyes are haunted, empty and hollow, and dark bags line them. His face is paler than it has been his entire life, and his hair is more unkempt than he usually ever lets it be. Stubble decorates the bottom half of his face, even though it’s barely ten in the morning.

He considers slamming his fist into the mirror, considers erasing this evidence of his weakness from the world forever. But something—whether it is rational thinking, the thought of Mike’s disappointment, or simply his lacking will to even raise his hand and curl it into a fist, he isn’t sure—stops him.

Instead he ducks under the shower-head and wishes the water would wash away his sorrow.

Nothing will wash that away, though, he knows this. He knows this because so long as reality remains reality, so long as Mike stays dead, his grief will never fade.

It is a fact he has to live with now, forever.

These are his thoughts as he scrubs his skin raw, as he sobs into the empty air around him and thanks God that the roar of rushing water drowns out his cries and the constant stream masks his tears.

He finally steps out of the shower what seems like hours later, toweling off his body and reaching for a change of clothes. He slips into them naturally, and for a second the routine movement makes him feel normal again—but then he looks up, at the mirror once more, and the second passes, the feeling dies. 

He is far from normal.

He swallows and brushes his hair back, imagines Mike’s shining eyes and tinkling laughter as he mocks Harvey for caring so much about his appearance. He drops his hands abruptly, and squint at their trembling. He can’t stop, can’t make himself still and calm.

He’s falling apart at the seams, and though he can feel it vividly he can’t avoid the train wreck.

He scowls at himself, hating the brown of his eyes and wishing to see blue, and spins on his heel, stalking out of the hotel room. He’s hardly ready to face the world, but right now, the thought of facing himself seems even scarier, looming tall and intimidating ahead of him.

He’d take the crowd over the loneliness any day, now that Mike is no longer here to cheer him up, to tell him _I swear to you I will never betray you_ and then ask him _Is this what it’s like to be Harvey Specter?_ in the same breath.

_Please no,_ he answers Mike now. He’d rather be nothing and nobody with Mike at his side than Harvey Specter _without_ Mike. Because if this is what Harvey Specter’s life is like, then he doesn’t want it at all.

Even the mere thought of living like this for any longer than a day or two makes his insides shriek at him with something resembling terror. 

That, he supposes, is why he’s going along with Donna’s suggestion. His mother is nothing compared to Mike—compared to Mike’s sheer brilliance or Mike’s brightness or Mike’s witty sarcasm—but it’s a start. At least this way, he feels like he’s regaining some semblance of control, some measure of _the ground is back under my feet_.

When he closes his eyes and deafens his ears, he can almost pretend it’s the same as healing.

::

Harvey will never admit it, not even to himself, but it takes him twenty minutes to corral his fears back into their vault and recompose himself enough to take the first step into his mother’s nearly-empty classroom. She is the only one left, and she gazes upon her students' artworks with more than just a trace of pride.

It’s a look Harvey has rarely ever gotten from her. 

His eyes land on a painting by the back wall, and he recognizes the location instantly. It’s a beautiful site in Buenos Aires, and he can’t help but flinch and tear up at the sight. (He’s embarrassed to even think about it, but he lasted only about two hours after he joked about Buenos Aires to Mike before he pulled up Google on his laptop and searched up all the most fascinating areas there that he had no doubt Mike would love.)

The painter of this particular piece has chosen the Congressional Plaza outside the Senate as the focus, and Harvey’s dreamed of strolling through that particular park with Mike’s hand in his too many times to not feel himself choking up.

_Goddamn you, Mike,_ he thinks, because he knows that if only he never met Mike, he wouldn’t have to feel this way, wouldn’t have to start crying after looking at the most ridiculous things. He wouldn’t have to keep thinking of the one man he values most out of everything in his life.

But at the same time, he wouldn’t give up his time with Mike for anything in the world.

He steels his resolve, remembers the way Mike used to smile at him giddy and earnest after particularly spectacular wins in court, and strides into the classroom.

It’s easier than he thought it would be, staring his mother straight in the eye and inviting her to dinner as though this were normal. 

Because maybe this _would_ become his new normal.

And he’d never say he wants this, not when it’s coming in the wake of Mike’s death, but it’s simple, easy. It’s reminiscent of all his client dinners, when the most important item on his agenda is always making the client happy and satisfied. Or at least that used to be the most important thing, until Mike Ross came along and his priority became making sure Mike was comfortable and content even during client meetings where his focus honestly _should_ be the client.

But really, how could anyone ever expect him to concentrate on a mere client when a star as bright as Mike was sitting right beside him?

Except, no. He’s not supposed to be thinking of Mike. He _can’t_ think of Mike, otherwise he’ll lose whatever ground he gained. So instead he tunes back into his mother’s voice, listens to her accept his invitation to dinner eagerly and tries not to notice when he automatically imagines Mike’s praise for his willingness in making this crucial move towards reconciling with a woman he’s spent his entire adult life resenting.

He can do this. He _can_.

After all, all he has to do is plaster a smile on his face and keep pretending, keep swallowing back the _Mom, you’ll never believe this but I fell in love,_ and keep lying.

::

Harvey won’t lie, at least not to himself. 

There are more than a few times during their dinner together where he wants to just snap and scream and _shout_ at his mother, but the thought of Mike keeps him civil. 

Because Donna’s words ring loud and true in his mind, even as he stares down his mother and listens to her tell him she forgives him, too. (Who the hell is she to say _he’s_ the one who needs to be forgiven?)

So instead of barking back an angry _I did nothing wrong, that was all on you,_ he smooths his face into a neutral expression and changes the subject desperately, “My associate died a few days ago.”

…That wasn’t exactly what he planned on saying, but he can’t take it back now. He hides a flinch, watches his mother’s eyes soften and go blurry with pity, and forges on resolutely, as if bringing this up was his intention all along, instead of an uncontrollable urge spurred on by just how much Mike's death hit him, “His funeral was two days ago.”

“I’m so sorry, Harvey,” she says softly, almost a whisper, and he nods tightly.

He doesn’t tell her _Sorry won’t help this, won’t_ fix _this,_ like he wants to. The words burn on his tongue, but he lets them fade away into dust—he lets her believe she can make things better, she can patch up his wounds with a few gentle words and a mother’s love. 

She hasn’t been his mother in years now, but maybe the facade will be good for them both. Maybe this is what he needs. Maybe if he pretends hard enough, the hurt will go away.

Even if right now it feels like that will never happen, not even in a million years. Even if right now the hurt is a living, _breathing_ thing, writhing wildly in his ribcage, setting his lungs on fire and sealing him off from oxygen.

“For weeks after your father’s death,” she begins half a second later, only slightly hesitant, and he stiffens in his seat, “I kept dreaming of everything that could have been. _What if_ , I kept asking myself. What if I’d tried harder, what if I’d ended things with Bobby and begged your father to take me back? What if I’d put in the effort to make our relationship work? _What if?_ None of the questions helped, but it didn’t stop me from asking them?”

He wants to tell her _I don’t want to hear it_. He wants to rush to his feet and run away from this version of his mother, looking so regretful and guilty that his mind is spinning dizzily with confusion. He wants to avert his eyes from the sight of this woman who’s loved and lost—lost everything.

But he can’t. His eyes stay stubbornly focused on her.

“For so many nights I cried myself to sleep,” she continues, her voice growing stronger and more sure of herself as more words fall from her mouth. “I couldn’t stop _remembering_ all the good times we had, your father and I. It just wouldn’t let go of me, the fear that I was _broken_. That I couldn’t be mended.”

_You look pretty damn mended to me,_ he resists the urge to snark back. He’s supposed to be forgiving her, he reminds himself, and swallows the spike of anger. His father had been broken, too—by _her_. Because she might not have left to death, but she left him all the same. “What are you telling me?” he asks instead, voice low and tense, in warning.

She smiles sadly, so bittersweet and full of weepy remorse, and says finally, “I never thought I’d be able to get back on my feet again. I thought… I thought it’d haunt me forever, your father’s death and the part I played in the end of our marriage. But after almost a month of watching me sink, Bobby finally dragged me back to Gordon's grave and told me to just… to get everything off my chest.” She chuckles quietly, under her breath, and adds, “I thought it was ridiculous.”

Harvey can’t help but agree.

She shrugs helplessly. “But I went ahead and did it anyway, because by that point I just wanted more than anything to be able to _stop aching_ in every bone in my body. Bobby waited in the car while I just sat there and cried my eyes out”—another dry, derisive laugh—“until all my tears were gone. And then I finally let myself say all the words I’d never dared tell him in life. I told him I was sorry, I told him I never meant for our marriage to end like that, I told him I was a coward, and I told him I still loved him. I told him about you and Marcus, about how much I wished he’d get to see you fall in love with someone of your own. I told him _everything,_ Harvey, and… believe it or not, it helped.”

Harvey sucks in a breath. “Are you suggesting I, what, spill all my secrets to a ghost like some madman?” he asks, and laughs mockingly, because the alternative is breaking down and admitted to her that he _had_ fallen in love, and neither his father nor his mother watched it happen.

She just smiles patiently. “All I’m saying is that we all recover in different ways. Telling the truth was what _I_ needed. And, who knows, maybe it could help you, too. You are still my son, after all.”

_You’re a fool,_ he thinks, _if you believe that telling Mike the truth_ now _of all times, when all it will do is make things realer, will ever help me heal._

And, really? _Recover_? Is that even a possibility? Don’t make him laugh.

But Harvey has never been especially good at deceiving himself, and right now he can’t escape the truth: he will never have another chance with Mike. 

_That_ is already real, will always be real.

…But he _does_ have a chance with his mother—and besides, Mike would have wanted him to make peace with Lily. Mike would have wanted him to _forgive_ her. 

So he just bites back the already-prepared snappy retort waiting on the tip of his tongue and smiles a smile he doesn’t feel. “Maybe,” is all he allows himself to say, a lie but not quite at the same time. Because “ _maybe_ ” is enough. Right now, it’s enough. It has to be enough.

In the end, Harvey just wants to be someone Mike could have been proud of.


	5. I’m begging for some (but I can’t bring you back now)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is also taken from the song Out Loud by Gabbie Hanna.

His mother’s words grate on him all throughout his plane ride back to New York, and even for a few more hours after he’s landed, until he finally decides to shut her voice up by dropping by the office, settling in at his desk, and pulling out a thick sheet of paper and a pen. 

He nestles the pen between his curled fingers and presses the tip to the sheet of paper—and then hesitates, suddenly unable to form even a single word. There’s still so much he wants to say to Mike, he knows that, but right now, he somehow isn’t sure _what_ those things are.

He sighs heavily, grips both pen and paper loosely in his hands, and stalks down the corridor towards Mike’s office. He breathes out a sigh of relief when he still sees Mike’s name on the glass wall—if the maintenance staff had already gone ahead and scraped those letters off, he doesn’t know what he’d do, only that he’d tear their heads off and bury them with so many useless tasks they’ll wish it were them in Mike’s coffin.

He lingers at the doorway for a moment, but it’s just a moment, because then he’s striding in and taking his seat behind Mike’s desk. He sets the pen and paper down, and then takes a moment to gather his bearings. 

He closes his eyes and revels in the thought that this is where Mike sat, this is where Mike felt most at home (though Mike had been in Harvey’s own office for more hours, Harvey knows Mike familiarized himself to this office, he knows Mike loved this office), and this is where Mike spent hours upon hours at a time proofing briefs and writing up affidavits and finding loopholes—because Harvey knows that even after scoring his promotion as junior partner, Mike continued to be the most thorough employee at Pearson Specter Litt. Even as partner, Mike preferred going through his cases and making sure they were airtight by himself.

Harvey never really understood it—while it’s true that he was initially reluctant to rely on the other associates at the bullpen as well, that’s because he didn’t trust them (until Mike), but Harvey knows that Mike’s worked with each of the associates and would consciously depend on most of them without hesitation, so he never knew why Mike always insisted on still doing all the legwork himself, even though as partner he had the right to the help of the associates.

He still doesn’t understand, but now even that simple memory of Mike’s habits makes his breath shorten and his grip tighten around the chair handles and his heart pound painfully. His headache _explodes_ in his head and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, _he can’t breathe_ —

_It’s okay, Harvey,_ a voice croons into his ear, and he blinks back tears, _it’s okay, I promise. You’re okay. Just close your eyes, trust me, and breathe._

He closes his eyes. For the first few seconds the darkness makes him want to curl into a ball and wither away, but then there is a soothing present beside him, behind him, around him, and he feels his heartbeat slow slightly.  

_I do,_ he wants to say, because the voice is familiar and he knows who this is and he doesn’t want Mike to go a second longer without knowing exactly how much he means to Harvey, how much Harvey has come to rely on his constant presence, how much Harvey wants to see and _cause_ his smile, his laughter whether it is fond or warm or exasperated, his playful jokes. (Except those should all be past tense now and more than anything Harvey can’t _stand_ the thought that _Mike Ross_ is past tense.) _I do trust you. God do I trust you, more than anyone else in the world._

Mike’s laughter in his mind is salvation. _I knew you cared,_ he teases, and the familiar line is a punch to the gut. 

Harvey gasps, desperate for air, and he isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry because Mike’s right, he _has_ always cared. _I did, Mike, I did care,_ he swears, meaning it with every fiber of his being, _I_ do _care. I’m sorry I never told you. I’m sorry I was always such a goddamn stubborn idiot._

Mike’s voice never comes back, never replies him, and Harvey squeezes his eyes shut tighter and _prays_. He prays and prays and prays, but still there is nothing but silence in his head now. And he _hates_ it.

(He used to be always criticizing Mike for his loudness, for his annoying humming and his constant chatter, his frankly unbelievable levels of cheer even in the early morning, but now he wants nothing more than to hear Mike’s voice again. It’s just too quiet without Mike.)

He hates the silence the most, but Mike doesn’t say anything more. Instead Harvey stays in the darkness for a few more minutes, all alone, until he feels himself falling, and falling, and falling—but he’s falling into familiar arms, a familiar scent and a familiar feeling; he’s falling into _safety_. He lets himself fall, and he holds tightly onto those arms, that home.

And then he opens his eyes, and his vision is back, his breath has returned, and his dizziness is gone.

It’s funny how even now that he is dead, Mike is still helping him, all the time. Harvey flashes back to his panic attack in the office that one time, when Jessica told him bluntly and without room for argument that he was afraid of Mike leaving him (and she was right, she was never more right than she was at that moment), and he managed to make it back to his own office before he felt the walls closing in on him, sucking the air out of the room and out of his lungs and suffocating him. Mike was there that time, too, helping him, offering him water, pressing a grounding hand onto his back.

Mike’s always been able to help him.

Harvey mulls over that for a long while, remembering all the instances Mike saved him, before he finally lowers his eyes to the paper on the desk—on _Mike’s_ desk—and begins to write.

This time the words come easier, like he’s been waiting to say them forever.  

 

> _Dear Mike,_
> 
> _I don't think I've ever written an actual letter before, at least not since my middle school pen pal days, but, well, my mother said this would be good for me—oh, that’s right, I finally made up with my mother. If you were here now, you’d be proud of me for letting things go, wouldn’t you? And you don’t know it, but the truth is, Mike, I always want to make you proud. Even from the beginning I’ve wanted that._
> 
> _Anyway, she said it will help me to get all of my thoughts and regrets out of my head and off my chest, to finally admit to everything I’ve ever felt for you—even though you will never get to read this. And that's the problem, isn't it? You will never get to read_ anything _again. Never hear anything again. Never learn anything. Never know how I feel because you're_ gone _, Mike, and I don’t… I don't know what to do. I don't know how to go on without you anymore._
> 
> _You stormed into my life, turned it upside down and inside out, and now I have no idea how to do_ any _of this without you. I don’t know how to go back. I don't know how to go back to being Superman, to being Harvey Specter, the best goddamn closer in New York City. I don’t even know if I_ want _to go back to that, now that I’ve had a taste of you._
> 
> _You changed me, Mike, for the better—though I’d never admit that to you. You made me_ feel _again, and no matter how much shit I gave you for it, or how much I denied it to your face… all of this, these emotions, I’m better for them. I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to change back to the man who was so afraid of letting down his shields. I don’t want to live in a world without you, a world where you no longer exist because you died protecting me, saving me from a fate that I should have served with you. Everyday of your life you have fought to be the lawyer you were always meant to be, and you gave all of it up for me—even after you managed to corral that life into your reality and grasp it finally—and I will never forget that. I will never forget what that felt like, to see you lay down arms._
> 
> _But this isn’t about me, because even though I was the one who hired you, even though I crossed line after line right alongside you, I’m not the one suffering for it now. I’m not the one who died in prison because of a man who held a grudge against_ me _—because that's the truth, Mike: Frank Gallo had nothing against you. He had_ everything _against me. The only reason you were ever in his sight in the first place is because of me, and I don't know how to deal with that. I don’t know how to deal with knowing that_ I _am the reason you are dead, Mike, because I am. I was the reason you sacrificed your freedom and went to prison and now I'm the reason you are dead, and the reason you will never get to marry Rachel, never get to have a future. Never get to have the children and the family you deserve. I’m the reason you will never get to have anything again, ever._
> 
> _I'm sorry, Mike. I’m just so fucking sorry. I don't like apologizing, you know that. I have never apologized in my life before, but for you... For you, I’d do anything, Mike. For you, I‘d apologize over and over again. If only it meant you'd still be here with me._
> 
> _Because I still need you, Mike. I don't admit it much, but I do, I need you. I can't be me without you. Not ever again. I don't even remember how I did it before. Now I don't_ want _to remember. I just want you back. Mike, you're the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I need you to know that. I need you to know that I would do it all over again, too—though I wonder if you’d still say that now, knowing what going to prison for me has led to. I wonder if you’d still say that knowing that it put you in danger, put you in the crosshairs of Frank Gallo. It’d be unfair of me to ask you that now, especially knowing that it is because of Gallo that you are six feet under; dead, buried, gone._
> 
> _You... you’ve lost everything—your life, your future—because of Frank Gallo, and to a lesser extent, because of me. Well, maybe not to lesser extent; maybe it’s_ all _because of me, because I was so selfish. I let you go down for me, because I didn't fight hard enough for you. I should have. I should have fought harder. I should have tried to protect you more. Should have done something, anything; anything but watch and stand by helplessly as you walked into the gates of Danbury. Away from me._
> 
> _As of today, it’s been three weeks and two days since I watched you leave to your fate, and barely three days since your warden called Donna and my life came crashing down around me, and it gets harder everyday. The world is cruel for taking you away from us, from_ me _. Mike, you know probably better than anyone that I don’t believe in miracles (they’re ridiculous and childish and no one can convince me otherwise), but you should also know that I wouldn’t hesitate to light as many as a thousand candles and make a wish if only you’d return to my side._
> 
> _That won’t happen, though. I’m not such a fool to believe the stars would smile upon me in such a way—but_ if _such a thing could happen, I need you to know I’d do anything, give anything. I wouldn’t mind being a fool if fate could bring you back to me._
> 
> _But since they can’t, all I have left to do is regret. And god, I have so many regrets, Mike. I regret letting you take the fall for me. Jesus Christ, I regret that so much. I regret not fighting hard enough to keep you out of prison—or at least hard enough to get you out in time. I regret not letting you know how proud I am of you more often, because I really am proud of you, Mike. I never thought I_ could _be proud of someone else’s achievements instead of just my own, but you’re different. You make me so proud it scares me sometimes, the strength with which I feel for you—not as much as returning to the blank canvas of a life that I led before I met you, though. Nothing scares me as much as that._
> 
> _I guess that’s another thing I regret. Almost everyday I knew you, I did everything I could to not let you in. I didn’t really tell you anything—I didn’t tell you I cared, I didn’t tell you there’s never been anyone like you for me, I didn’t tell you I was terrified of losing you. I was terrified that you’d realize you had nothing keeping you here, or that you’d find something better and leave Pearson Specter Litt—and me—behind. I was terrified you’d finally understand that you could do so much better._
> 
> _After all, if you walked away for good, where would that leave me? When you worked for Sidwell, I remember I told you that I made you; that without me, you’re nothing. But that’s nothing more than a bold-faced lie, because I’m the one who’s nothing without you, Mike, and_ that _is the truth. Without you, the world stops shining as bright, stops being as fun, stops spinning completely. Mike, you make me find joy and excitement in a world that was once so dull and so boring. You make my existence less miserable. You bring_ color _to my life, and let me tell you, that’s no small feat. I used to see only in black-and-white, but you’ve changed that. You’ve introduced me to a whole rainbow of new colors I’ve let myself stay blind to my entire life._
> 
> _So more than anything, I regret never being completely honest with you. I regret never showing you how much I appreciate your constant presence in my life. I regret taking you for granted. I regret never telling you I love you, even though the words have burned on my tongue for years, even though the truth is I don’t think I could ever stop loving you._
> 
> _That’s what I regret, every second I look up and don’t come face-to-face with you._
> 
> _It’s only now that you’re gone that I have all these things I can’t stop wanting to tell you. Because there’s so much more I have left to say, all of it couldn’t possibly fit a single letter. For now, I’ll settle for telling you something I never had the courage to say while you were still alive and around to hear it: I never wanted you to go. All I wanted was you to stay. Stay as the Robin to my Batman, Sundance to my Butch, or any other ridiculous analogy you loved to break out. I just wanted you there, always._
> 
> _I can’t ask you that anymore, but still it’s all I want._ You’re _all I want._
> 
> _So I guess that’s it, then. You’re dead, and I... I’m still alive. You’ve outrun me for the last time, in the only race that matters—and it’s not supposed to be like this. It was never supposed to be like this. We were supposed to have forever, or at least as close to forever as mortals can get—but instead all I have left of you is a body buried six feet under and memories that can never match up to the real thing._
> 
> _You’re gone, and I’m still here,_ stuck _in life, unable to leave, unable to chase you again._
> 
> _Who would have ever thought life could hurt this much?_
> 
> _I miss you, Mike. I miss your intelligence and your sharp wit, I miss your insistence on wearing your appallingly cheap suits and skinny ties, I miss the way you always followed your gut instinct, I miss seeing your horrible handwriting scrawled across the margins of my files. I miss your ability to care for even jerks like Louis, or like that arrogant associate you went up against during your first year, or like me. I miss the way you were always able to make me smile no matter what was going on. I miss the way you trusted me and depended on me without doubt. I miss the way I could always count on you to have my back. I miss the way you never gave up, not even on me._
> 
> _I miss everything, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I love you, Mike, and I always will._
> 
> _Yours now and forever,_
> 
> _Harvey_
> 
> _P. S. Do you remember when Jessica first found out you were a fraud, and we joked about fleeing to Buenos Aires? I can’t help but wish I went ahead and bought those two plane tickets. Maybe not to hide out there forever, but... it would have been nice to have a few days to ourselves, away from everyone and everything else. I have no doubt you would have loved Buenos Aires. For me, it isn’t really the place that appeals to me, but the idea (of going somewhere with you; of being alone together, just you and me). And so ever since the first time I mentioned the idea to you, I’ve clung to it viciously, treasuring the thought of having you in my life forever. Now that you’re gone, I can’t stomach so much as the thought of flying up to Buenos Aires. I just... I can’t go there anymore, because it was_ our _fantasy,_ our _dream. It wasn’t just mine. Even now, it doesn’t belong to only me. So if you’re watching over us, Mike, I want you to know, that dream of Buenos Aires will be ours forever._
> 
> _P.P.S. I should probably tell you that Donna arranged for your grave to be beside your grandmother’s. I think that if you had to be put to rest somewhere, you’d be glad it’s there, next to your family. I didn’t even want to think about you needing a grave, but I guess that’s just another reason why Donna’s our hero, right? I don’t know where I’d be or what I’d do without her, especially now that you’re gone—now that you can't be the one holding me up._

 

Harvey sets aside his pen with a sigh that comes from deep inside his chest. Admittedly, his mother was right: putting his feelings into words _did_ help—but not nearly enough. 

Truth is, nothing would help enough. (Nothing but a second chance, unrealistic as that is.)

He scans the passage of text containing his words regarding miracles a second time, and a derisive snort escapes his lips. Even if miracles _were_ to exist, the gods would never be so kind as to bestow them upon him.

He swallows thickly, signs the letter, and seals it in an envelope. (Mike would have laughed at the high quality of the envelope; he would have shaken his head and said dismissively, _Why is that even necessary, Harvey? It’s just an envelope._ )

::

He asks Ray to drive him to the cemetery, and Ray says nothing, just nods and puts on one of his dad’s records. He doesn’t have to specify; Ray knows he’s talking about Mike—Ray knows that he could _only_ be talking about Mike.

Harvey rests his head on the window and tries to let his dad’s music lull him to sleep. When that doesn’t work, he opens his eyes, turns his head, and spends the rest of the ride like that: staring out the window, taking in all the buildings and sceneries flying by, thinking of all the places Mike will never get to go anymore.

He rests his palm over his right chest, over the envelope in his jacket pocket, and watches the people outside on the streets bustle around.

He pretends not to notice when Ray shoots him a concerned look through the rear-view mirror.

::

The cemetery is empty and intimidating ( _haunted_ is the better word, Harvey thinks) when he finally arrives and steps in through the towering gates. He comes to a stop at Mike’s grave and pauses for a moment, his eyes resting briefly on a bouquet of roses and lilies lying beside the headstone. 

The bouquet is gorgeous, a beautiful mix of the two types of flowers, but Harvey can only smile miserably at the sight. Mike hated roses, Harvey remembers clearly; Mike always used to say that they’re too cliché, too expected. No, Mike’s favorite flowers were peonies. (And how does he know this?)

Shaking his head to clear the random thought, Harvey digs the envelope out of his jacket pocket and leaves it atop Mike’s grave.

His fists clench, and it’s all he can do to keep from sinking to his knees and crying right there. From groveling and begging Mike to please come back to him—or even to Rachel, he doesn’t care, just _please come back_.

Instead, all he does is bend down so his lips graze the stone slab and whisper _I love you, Mike_ into the unmoving winds. Mike will never get to hear him say the words, but he says them anyway.

Even knowing it’s too little, too late.

He rises to his feet, turns around, and forces his legs to move before he can fall apart.


	6. I still taste your presence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title is yet again taken out of the song Out Loud by Gabbie Hanna.

****“We need to talk.”

Harvey looks up to find Jessica standing in front of him. He frowns at the concern he can see on her face; she tries to hide it, but it seems Mike’s death has affected her more than he thought it did if he can see right through her. He glances outside his office—Donna isn’t at her desk.

“Jessica,” he begins defensively, only to be cut off when Jessica raises a hand and beckons for him to follow her. She takes a seat on one of his luxurious leather couches, and he wordlessly follows suit. He knows better than to argue with her when she looks this serious.

Even before she opens her mouth again, he knows what she’s here to talk about. And when she waves her hand at the file he has opened on his desk and asks knowingly, “Another pro bono?” his suspicions are confirmed.

He narrows his eyes. “There’s nothing to discuss,” he deflects instead, ignoring her expectant gaze. He knows why she’s so worried; his entire career up until Mike’s death, he’s done his best to avoid any and all pro bonos. She knows that well—she’s fought against him tooth and nail in her attempts to make him close his fair share of pro bono cases enough times, after all. Better than anyone, she knows he despises them.

“Harvey, you’ve done more pro bono cases this past week than you have in the last year,” she says in disbelief. “Like hell there’s nothing to discuss.”

“I thought you wanted me to do more pro bono cases,” Harvey points out. “So I really don’t see where you’re coming from.”

“Except right now you’re not doing pro bono cases to serve the public,” she says knowingly, “you’re doing them to feel closer to Mike.”

Harvey says nothing. She’s not right, not completely at least. She’s _almost_ there, but he doesn’t necessarily need to do pro bono cases to feel close to Mike—he can do that just by rewatching The Godfather or ordering in from that ridiculous Thai place Mike loved. 

But what he really wants, now that Mike is gone, is to be able to believe for himself that Mike wouldn’t be regretting his decision to stand by Harvey if he were still alive. It’s stupid, he knows, but he just wants to make Mike proud.

Because Harvey knows full well that Mike was a better man than most. 

He doesn’t want to be someone Mike would be disappointed in, if Mike could see him now—he doesn’t want to be the cold-hearted, “I-only-care-about-me” corporate lawyer Mike so often disapproved of. He doesn’t want to be the selfish asshole Mike would shake his head at.

And so that’s why he’s taking on all these pro bonos. Because he knows Mike would have wanted him to do so; because he knows Mike would have taken them himself if he’d had the chance to; because Frank Gallo ripped all those chances away from Mike, and the least Harvey can do is become someone Mike would have been proud to know.

The least he can do is live on on Mike’s behalf, no matter how painful it is, and carry on Mike’s legacy.

He doesn’t say any of that, though. Instead he just fixes Jessica with a weary gaze and asks, in his patented _Cut-the-bullshit_ tone, “What do you want, Jessica?”

Jessica’s expression shifts. “I want to know _why_ ,” she answers earnestly, and Harvey grinds his teeth. “Harvey, I know you feel guilty, but you don’t have to do all of this. You don’t owe him anything, Harvey.”

Harvey’s face closes off immediately. _I owe him everything,_ is what he wants to say. “I’m not doing it for him,” is what he says. It’s a lie, a complete fucking lie, and he can see from the unimpressed look on Jessica’s face that he’s not fooling her in the slightest. “I’m _not_ ,” he decides to insist instead of giving in.

Jessica scoffs. “Right,” she says disbelievingly, “because you’re definitely taking all these unbillable cases for the people themselves. Because you’re doing it out of the good of your heart.”

He winces at the derision in her voice—it only serves to remind him how different he and Mike were, in this regard. Because in _this_ regard, Mike had always been the best of the two of them. “I’m doing it for me,” he says to distract himself from the memory of everything Mike and his goddamn bleeding heart had ever accomplished. 

Jessica’s gaze softens. “Harvey,” she starts gently, “this isn’t healthy. All you’re doing is destroying yourself.”

Harvey laughs crudely. “No, Jessica,” he shakes his head, “what I’m doing is honoring his memory.”

Jessica closes her eyes, and he wonders when it was that she became so open, so readable, to him. Usually she doesn’t let him see anything beyond the powerful, stone-faced mask of the fierce Jessica Pearson, first black woman to become name partner of a law firm. “Then let us _help_ you,” she pleads when she reopens her eyes, and Harvey instantly shakes his head without even thinking about it.

“You _can’t_ help me,” Harvey says in a low, warning voice. “This is something I have to do for myself, Jessica, try to understand that.”

“ _Why_?” she demands, sharp and swift to the point. “You know Louis and I, not to mention Rachel, would be more than glad to make sure every lawyer out there knows that they will never be able to match up to Mike, fraud or no.”

“I know you would, Jessica, I know,” he reassures. “But Mike was _my_ associate, _I_ brought him into our world, and I _need_ to do this on my own.”

Jessica’s quiet for a long moment, an odd mixture of pride and grief crossing her face. Finally she shakes her head and huffs a mirthless laugh. “You’re lying to both me _and_ yourself if you really believe that’s the reason why you feel obligated to do all of this.”

Harvey tenses. “Jessica—”

“I knew Mike Ross meant the world to you the second you told me you’d go too if I kicked him out,” Jessica interrupts, and the smile on her lips is quite possibly the saddest look he’s ever seen her wear. 

“That’s not—” Harvey shakes his head and breaks off, unable to find the words to deny her assessment. He clears his throat and tries again, “I don’t—he isn’t—”

But he can’t bring himself to lie, not about Mike. He _won’t_ lie about Mike.

Jessica just sighs regretfully at the way he’s stumbling over his words (he’s a lawyer, a _closer_ , he hasn’t had trouble using his communication skills to convey his thoughts in over a decade). “Harvey,” she begins firmly, and he clamps his mouth shut, “you told me that you weren’t staying without Mike, and I know you don’t bluff.” 

His eyes widen. “What are you saying?” he asks urgently.

She hesitates, teetering on the line separating _before_ and _after_ , before she goes ahead and takes the plunge, “I’m saying I think you should take a few days off.”

Harvey’s jaw drops in disbelief. “What, because I’ve been doing pro bono work?” he asks incredulously. “That’s _insane_ , Jessica. I can’t believe you’re punishing me for doing the one thing you’ve always tried to get me to do.”

“I’m not _punishing_ you,” she retorts, “and it’s hardly because of your increased amount of pro bono cases. I’m _helping_ you, because I doubt you’ve even taken any time for just yourself.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harvey snarls, surging to his feet in a rush of anger that Jessica must have expected, because she doesn’t even bat an eye. “You have _no_ idea—”

“What I have an idea of is that you _cared_ about Mike, whether you liked to admit it or not,” she responds calmly, and it’s the collected cool of her voice that makes him pause, take a step back, and look more closely at the conversation. “What I _know_ , Harvey, is that for the past six years you have done _everything_ you possibly could to give that kid second chance after second chance after second chance. You have fought everyone who stood in your way—in _Mike’s_ way—and you have backed him in all his plays. What I know is that _he’s gone_ now, and you aren’t sure how to deal with that so you fall back on Harvey Specter’s tried-and-true methods of deflection and avoidance and _denial_. But that won’t help you in the long run, because this isn’t like when Mike went to work for Sidwell and you still got to see him every now and then. This time, Mike’s not coming back—and _you need to accept that_.”

Harvey slowly sits back down on his sofa, his head hanging low between his shoulders and his eyes lowered, her words ringing faintly in his mind. She’s right, of course, and he hasn’t been avoiding it _exactly_ ; it’s not like he doesn’t know Mike’s never going to be a part of his life again, it’s not like he’s fooled himself into hoping that he will ever get to hold Mike in this lifetime, it’s not like he believes if he wishes it hard enough he might look up from his work one day and see Mike right there on the sofa where he loves to sit with his feet resting infuriatingly on the coffee table—

—Maybe Jessica has a point.

Harvey thinks of everything everyone seems to keep telling him; he thinks of what Donna said to him about Mike being gone but that he still has a family, he thinks about his conversation with Marcus, with his mother, and now with Jessica. He thinks about writing that letter to Mike, one Mike will _never get to read_ , and he thinks that nothing has ever hurt this much.

He thinks of the pity he can see on everyone’s faces nowadays, thinks of what Jessica is telling him now, thinks of the firmness in her voice as she said _You need to accept that_ and he thinks— _he knows_ —he won’t ever be able to accept it.

In some detached, abstract way he’d already known that Mike is well and truly _gone_ , and that dead means dead and he won’t ever be coming back. But now, with Jessica staring him hard and steely and unwavering, it’s more vivid, more clear. It’s _unavoidable_ now. He can’t pretend anymore; can’t pretend he’s ever going to wake up to Mike’s beautiful smile, can’t pretend Mike’s absence isn’t drilling a gaping hole into his life, can’t pretend he’s ever going to be okay again.

It’s stupid, it really is, because he’s only known Mike for a few years, and he’s lived _without_ Mike for much, much longer—but it’s even more ridiculous to think that he could have ever lived like this, without Mike. He can’t go back, can’t forget all the days he spent with Mike by his side.

He knows better now. He knows that without Mike, his life isn’t the same. It will _never_ be the same.

“He’s not,” he says, and his voice sounds empty and hollow and defeated to even his own ears. “He’s really not coming back.”

Jessica looks devastated—and if he squints, he can just about make out the lone tear shining in her eye. “No, he’s not,” and her voice is but a whisper, but still the words carry loud and strong, echoing over and over again like a broken record in the stillness of his office. 

“I don’t know if I can do this, Jessica,” he whispers, looking up at her with a spoken plea in his eyes—a plea for her to once again save him as she once did when she plucked him out of the mailroom.

But she just shakes her head and smiles mournfully. Her eyes broadcast a pain larger than life; she has witnessed more than her fair share of tragedies, and he knows the aftermath of Mike’s death is yet another for her to live through. For them all to live through, because now this is their reality, and it is a reality without Mike. 

Somehow, he never believed Mike would ever be taken from him.

“I can’t help you with this, Harvey,” she says, her voice just as soft as his. “This is something you have to do on your own, you owe that much to Mike. But for what it’s worth, Harvey... I think you can.” Her face splits briefly into a smile, a desperate attempt at levity to regain their former selves. “Or are you going to sit there and tell me that there is anything Harvey fucking Specter can’t do?”

He knows he should accept the olive branch for what it is and play along, he should laugh and agree and pretend because that’s what Harvey Specter does. But he never accounted for how goddamn _hard_ even lying has become now that he no longer has Mike. He’s forgotten how to do any of this without his right hand. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” is what he ends up saying, instead of _You’re goddamn right there’s nothing I can’t do._ “Harvey fucking Specter doesn’t exist without Mike Ross.”

Jessica says nothing in response to that—because, really, _is_ there any appropriate response? She just shifts closer to him and lays a hand on his shoulder, squeezing encouragingly.

He lets her support wash over him, and he can almost fool himself into believing that it isn’t Mike’s touch he’d rather have.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, sitting side-by-side and drawing strength from each other’s mourning, but by the next time he raises his head and looks across him, she is already gone.

::

It takes him almost another half hour, but eventually Harvey manages to suppress his grief enough to stand on his own two feet. He sways shakily for the first few seconds, and then he steadies himself and once more dons the impeccable mask of the great Harvey Specter.

( _That_ Harvey Specter no longer exists, he thinks distantly to himself.)

He casts his desk, and the countless files lying atop it, a considering glance, but then decides that Jessica is right, a few days won’t hurt. While he isn’t sure what the emptiness of his condo will do to him, he can’t stay here any longer, can’t stroll through the halls of Pearson Specter Litt and pretend he isn’t looking for familiar blonde hair and blue eyes anymore. This firm is where he spent the most time with Mike, and here the lack of Mike is most obvious. 

This place has always been like a second home to him, but now he feels like he’s suffocating here.

He turns away from the desk and strides out of his office silently, resolutely avoiding Donna’s heartbroken gaze following him away. He refuses to look back at her, fearing that if he does, he will be too lost in the ocean of their shared sadness to carry himself off this floor and out of the building. So he keeps his eyes forward and absolutely doesn’t falter as he heads for the elevator banks, before he changes his mind and takes a detour to Mike’s office.

(And if he happens to pass by the bullpen on the way, he definitely does not turn away. He doesn’t ignore the new batch of associates, doesn’t pretend they don’t exist. And he doesn’t grimace because that used to be Mike’s desk; he used to be able to stop by any time of the workday and find Mike’s childish Redbull cans and dozens of colorful highlighters in that corner.)

He pauses just before he turns the corner to come face-to-face with Mike’s office. His eyes immediately zero in on Mike’s name, and then a splash of blonde just beyond that. He freezes, but when he lifts his gaze slightly it’s Katrina Bennett who crosses his sight, not some ghost of Mike Ross haunting his old office.

Harvey’s face sets into a cold glare. Fury festers deep in his gut, white-hot and seething as he takes in her lithe form, lounging comfortably on _Mike’s_ desk chair as though she belongs anywhere near it. 

Without even thinking about it he marches up to the office, throwing open the door and barging in, ready to rain _hell_ down upon her for taking up what should be _Mike’s_ space, because _how dare she_ sit there in that seat, how dare she breathe in the air of Mike Ross’ office, how dare she think she can replace Mike now that he is dead, how dare she think Harvey's at all ready to hand someone else Mike’s junior partner promotion and office, how dare she believe she could _ever_ usurp Mike's position or _ever_ be as good as Mike Ross, _how dare she_ —

And then he sees the tears.

The rage dies, and something akin to sorrow seeps in, because this is Katrina Bennett, this is a woman who was once willing to drag Mike’s name through the dirt, who was once willing to go to great lengths to tarnish his image and reputation. And yet now here she is, _crying_ for that same rival, for a man who lied to her and everyone else, for her _friend_.

Harvey swallows, his eyes burning uncomfortably as a lump forms in his throat. Katrina’s face is in her hands, and her shoulders are shaking with every muted sob, but though she’s quiet he can see the bloodshot red of her eyes and the tears running down her cheeks.

And Harvey, perhaps for the first time, comes to the profound and devastating realization that Mike Ross touched and affected _so many_ different people and stories. Even now, in death, Mike _continues_ to influence the lives of those he cared about, and who cared about him in return.

Fraud or not, competing adversaries or not, he can see that Mike was someone Katrina treasured.

He must have made a noise, because Katrina looks up and spots Harvey standing there. She doesn’t move, doesn’t try to cover up her tears; she just smiles weakly up at him and confesses, her speech interrupted by the occasional broken sob and hiccup, “I miss him everyday.”

Harvey struggles to keep his own insurmountable sadness at bay. _I do, too,_ he wants to admit, wants to tell the truth for once in his goddamn life. Instead he silences that vulnerable part of him and asks Katrina, “Even though he’s a fraud?”

A flash of regret spears through her eyes. “Even then,” she agrees, and she sounds so honest and sincere and _real_ that Harvey breathes out a sigh of relief.

A moment of silent understanding passes between them. The only thing that ever connected them, the one man that kept them civil when in the same room, is no longer alive—but still it is Mike who ties them together.

The silence is broken when Katrina’s body shudders with another soft weep, and she says to him, “It’s funny, actually, because we didn’t really have much contact anyway, so really I _shouldn’t_ miss him _this_ much. But Mike... he’s the kind of person who changes worlds. Nothing’s the same without him. He’s the greatest lawyer I’ve ever met. Because he’s not just a great lawyer, he’s a good one, too—a good _man_.”

Harvey laughs then, and his laugh is that of a broken man’s. “Mike cared too much,” is all he can offer in agreement. Because Katrina is right, Mike always has been too good a man—the kind of man the world needs more of.

Katrina’s lips curve into an anguished smile. “He did,” she nods jerkily. “He even cared about me, even back when we hated each other. I thought it was strange, thought that maybe he was playing me or something—but he never was. He was too kind to try anything like that. The law may have deemed him guilty of fraud, but Mike Ross was the most honest man I have ever known.”

::

It seems the world enjoys irony, because on the way back to his condo, he crashes into another man—another pothead. When he gathers his bearings and looks down at the young man, he comes face-to-face with shaggy black hair and brown eyes wide with fear and red-rimmed with the telltale haze of a drug-induced stupor. 

A few years ago, he would have scoffed in disgust and maybe even called the police. Now, and this is the irony of it, Harvey only stares, trying to blink away the image of Mike Ross six years prior, fleeing into his Chilton interview room. It is that memory, and the wave of grief that crashes through him, that spurs him on to outstretch his arm in offering.

The man gazes blankly up at him from where he landed half-sprawled, half-awkwardly-sitting, on the pavement concrete. Harvey just waits. Eventually the man swallows down the fear and reaches up to grab Harvey’s hand. Harvey inhales sharply at the trembling of the stranger’s hand, but doesn’t do anything except pull him up. 

“Be more careful next time,” is all he advises, voice not scornful as it might have been all those years ago, when his life was still pre-Mike Ross. Now his voice is only quiet, nostalgic, wistful. 

The man blinks. “I-I will,” he stutters, voice slurring in that way that potheads’ voices do.

Harvey thinks of how he knows all this, thinks of the screwup kid who barged into his life without remorse and turned everything upside down and the right way up. He thinks of the kid who wasn’t a screwup at all, despite what society led him to believe; he thinks of the kid who possessed a genius mind and a big heart.

Harvey releases the stranger and walks away, not letting himself look back.

Halfway to his condo, Harvey changes his mind and makes a detour. He makes his way to a small, hole-in-the-wall establishment that’s barely holding itself up. It’s an inn, for lack of a better word, for prison inmates newly released back into society. He noticed it only after Mike landed himself in prison.

_New Opportunities Center,_ the sign reads. 

A bell rings briefly as he pushes open the door and makes his way in, his eyes instinctively drinking in every corner of the rundown place. He draws attention instantly; he hardly looks like a prisoner, with his thousand-dollar three-piece suit and clean-shaven face. He spots more than a few former inmates tense in their seats, eyes flicking this way and that. He ignores them, making a beeline for the front desk.

A bearded face stares back at him from the other side of the desk. “This isn’t a place for people like you,” the man says instantly, scowl menacing. Harvey refuses to be scared away. 

“Believe me, I’m not looking for a place to stay,” Harvey denies, resolutely ignoring the man’s scoff of _of course you aren’t._ “I’m looking to make a donation.”

The man’s antagonistic glare fades away to a look of stunned surprise. He surveys Harvey more critically. “A donation, you say?”

Harvey nods determinedly. He imagines a Mike Ross fresh out of prison, trying to regain his footing as he navigates the shark-infested waters of a life post-jail. He imagines a Mike terrified out of his mind, eyes wide and darting around skittishly as he searches for an exit everywhere he goes.

He imagines a Mike who has lost hope.

Harvey swallows. Reasonably, _logically_ , he knows that that would never have happened. He knows he would never have _let_ that happen. He knows he would have been there for Mike however Mike needed him; he knows he would have given Mike anything, whether it was a free home or three square meals a day or another job.

But still, the thought of a Mike alone and abandoned in a world that rejects him solely because of a check next to a question about his criminal history makes Harvey’s insides shudder in the worst possible way.

So he just solidifies his resolve and says, “Yes.” 

Mike is gone, but still he grounds Harvey, inspires Harvey, makes Harvey better.

The man tilts his head curiously. “You can submit your donation right here,” the man says, “and make sure it’s addressed to _New Opportunities Rehabilitation._ ” Out of the corner of his eye, Harvey can see a few inmates perk up and inch closer in wonder. He guesses they heard him. 

Harvey smiles briefly, without joy but also without sadness for perhaps the first time since Mike’s death, and retrieves his checkbook from his jacket pocket. Donating to a cause Mike would have approved of, especially considering his recent conviction—it makes him feel like he has purpose again. It hardly makes him better, hardly makes everything okay again, but it gives him reason.

This—Mike would have been proud, he is sure. And it turns out that’s all the excuse he needs to do anything nowadays.

He flips the checkbook open and grabs a pen from the desk. He doesn’t even hesitate when he writes the check for half a million dollars.

It’s a lot, he knows it is, but he personally doesn’t need the money. These people, though—they _do_. Remembering Mike’s stories about Gallo’s threats, Harvey knows clearer than ever that these people need all the help they can get.

He can’t help Mike anymore, but this... this, he _can_ do.

He jots down his name, and _New Opportunities Rehabilitation,_ and rips out the check with a sense of relief. _How’s this, Mike?_ he thinks, closes his eyes and sees Mike smiling earnestly back at him. _Is this what you would want? Because you know I’d do anything, anything at all. Nothing’s too much for you._

Mike’s smile widens, and Harvey doesn’t regret a single thing as he slides the check over to the man behind the desk. He drops the pen, pockets the checkbook, and finds some sort of delight in the unadulterated shock on the man’s face. 

“Are you—are you sure?” the man stammers, awe and maybe a newfound respect staining his voice. “This is—500,000 dollars is a lot, don’t you think?”

Harvey barely notices the way the _New Opportunities Center_ members gape and gawk and murmur amongst themselves behind him. (The receptionist really has no sense of privacy.) All he notices is Mike’s pride. It flows through him like lifeblood, keeping him alive.

“Some things,” he just says eventually, “are more important than money.”

The man’s gaze softens. “Who did you lose?” he asks knowingly, and Harvey stiffens. “Because that’s why most people donate for a cause like this. Maybe they don’t donate half a million dollars, but all the same they donate because they’ve lost someone to prison. So, who did you lose?”

Harvey tells himself firmly not to lose it. “Why can’t I just be doing this because I want to?” he jokes.

The man sends him a stare that says he won’t be fooled. “No one ever just wakes up one day and decides to go and donate that much money to a prison rehabilitation cause.” His eyes run up and down Harvey’s attire a second time. “Especially not someone like you. No offense.”

Harvey just laughs shortly, trying to ignore the way his heart splinters at the man’s words. “None taken,” he says, because the man is right, he’s so fucking right. Before Mike, he was just another of the uncaring, unfeeling sharks who fed off the money of the unfortunate. Before Mike, all he did was make rich people richer—and he hadn’t seen anything wrong with it. Because before Mike, he had always thought himself to be in the right.

He is only helping these people because of Mike; he never would have cared about the inmates who have served their time and are trying to re-enter society if it wasn’t for Mike. He never would have even spared them a second glance. 

Because the truth is, Mike made him a better man. Is _still_ making him a better man, even from beyond the grave.

“Everything,” Harvey answers reflexively when the receptionist clears his throat expectantly. “I lost everything,” he sums up, because saying _I lost the man I love_ will only make him choke up, will only make him descend into the throes of a panic attack, and _Everything_ is true enough, anyway.

Mike _was_ everything.

The receptionist nods. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says, and Harvey resists the urge to lash out at him because who the _fuck_ does he think he is, he didn’t even _know_ Mike, what right does he have to say that _as though he cares_ —

But then again, Mike cared about too many people, too, most of them strangers.

Harvey nods slowly. “Thank you,” he croaks out, and takes a shaky step backwards. No one tries to stop him when he hurries out of the building, chased by the ghost of a man whose memories haunt him still, whose cheer and laughter and innocence and kindness refuse to leave him.

It’s funny, he thinks later as he rides the elevator up to his condo, because the only reason he didn’t call Ray to drive him home or take a cab is because he wanted fresh air and to clear his mind. And that led to him depositing a donation of $500,000 at a local prison recovery center.

And yet he can’t bring himself to regret any of it.


	7. you pulled me in (and together we’re lost in a dream)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is taken from the lyrics of the song Tightrope by Michelle Williams, sung in The Greatest Showman.

****Harvey isn’t surprised when, thirty minutes later, his doorman buzzes up and tells him he has a guest. _“He says he needs to talk to you, and that it’s an emergency,”_ the doorman says.

“Did he tell you his name?” Harvey asks, though he has a feeling he already knows who it is.

_“It’s a Louis Litt, Mr. Specter,”_ the doorman replies, confirming Harvey’s suspicions. He seems to hesitate for a moment, as though to decide whether or not he should continue, before finally he reveals, _“He said that it’s... it’s about Mr. Ross.”_

Harvey swallows. He can hear the subdued regret in even his doorman’s voice, which, really, is completely ridiculous. And yet it used to be Mike who dropped by his condo at all hours of the day, so much so that his doorman knew to send him up without even alerting Harvey beforehand. Harvey knows that Donna called his doorman to let him know about Mike’s death; he remembers his doorman’s quiet sadness and knows that even a man so distantly connected to Mike grieves for Mike now.

That was just the kind of person Mike was—he was someone everyone grew attached to, without even meaning to.

“Just send him up, Tom,” Harvey finally answers wearily, retreating to his living room and taking out a bottle of Macallan 18. He pours two fingers of the liquor each into two separate glasses.

Barely three seconds later, there’s a knock on his door, quickly followed by an irate voice shouting at him through the wood, “Open up, Specter! I know you’re in there and I think it’s high time we talked!”

Harvey rolls his eyes and meanders over to the door, one glass of Macallan in his hand. He swings open the door just as Louis’ closed fist is about to slam against it again. 

Louis stops himself just in time, but within seconds the surprise wears off and Louis glares hard at Harvey. He pushes past Harvey without a word and storms into Harvey’s living room. It should be strange, because right now Harvey can’t think of a single other instance when Louis was in his home—but what’s really strange is that it isn’t strange at all.

Louis drops his briefcase on his sofa in the living room, and Harvey quirks an eyebrow. “Make yourself at home,” he says with pointed sarcasm that Louis, also pointedly, ignores. Harvey tries not to think about how it used to be Mike who invaded his space at every turn, who spent every second of their time together crowding into his personal life without asking for permission.

“What the _hell_ , Harvey?” Louis demands as soon as the door clicks shut behind them. 

Harvey sighs heavily. Instead of answering verbally, he just gestures vaguely at the second glass on his counter in offering. He takes a sip from his own glass and waits patiently for Louis to settle down.

Louis scowls deeply, but does in fact take the glass. He knocks back almost the entire serving in one go—which only reminds Harvey of Mike, who was so endearingly unrefined in social situations, yet again—and then returns to scowling. “What the hell?” he repeats, but he sounds less upset and more calm this time, which Harvey counts as a win.

“You’re going to have to be more specific, Louis,” Harvey says calmly.

Louis scoffs. “I talked to Jessica,” is all he says, as if that is explanation enough. 

And maybe it is.

“Let me guess,” Harvey drawls, “she told you I’m taking a few personal days?”

Louis nods rapidly. “She’s messing with me, right? Tell me she’s messing with me.”

“I’m afraid not, Louis,” Harvey says with a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I really am taking some time off, believe it or not.”

Louis frowns. “Why?” he snaps. “I was _already_ thinking you were going crazy when I noticed how many of your latest cases are pro bonos—about 99% of them, just for your information—but this is a completely different story altogether. You’ve _never_ taken ‘personal’ days!”

“There’s a first time for everything, right?” 

Louis doesn’t seem appeased. “Why?” he asks again.

Harvey stays quiet for a long time while he walks around the sofa and sinks into the cushion. Louis, after a moment, follows his lead and sits down next to him. Harvey snorts, finishes off the last of his Macallan, and sets down the glass. But even then he says nothing.

Louis can’t help the concern that creeps over him. “Har—”

“I went to Rene’s the other day,” Harvey finally says, cutting Louis off. The change of topic surprises Louis so much that he doesn’t protest the interruption. He just shuts up and waits for Harvey to continue so that maybe Louis can spot a relevant point somewhere amidst his rambling. Harvey does, eventually: “It’s stupid, but I spotted a skinny tie, and do you know what my first thought was?”

_Oh,_ Louis thinks, his heart sinking to his knees. He remembers with sudden clarity the solemn look in Jessica’s eyes and curses himself for barging into Harvey’s condo without thinking this through. 

Because even before Harvey answers his own rhetorical question, Louis already knows what’s coming.

_Mike_ , Louis thinks with the same sense of regret and despair that’s plagued him many times over the last few days.

At the same time, Harvey carries on, “My first thought was that it was the kind of tie Mike would like. Which is a horrible thing to think, because it was a frankly hideous skinny tie—electric blue, I think, with stripes. And yet I still couldn’t help but imagine what it would look like on Mike, the only person I know who loves ties that skinny.”

Louis can’t help but crack a smile, even as his eyes are beginning to water and his lips are quivering and he already knows he’s close to tears.

“And then the day before that, at the office, I saw you and Katrina working on your Goldberg case or something or other, and though I must say you don’t have anywhere _near_ the same level of banter and friendship as Mike and I do— _did_ —it still reminded me of Mike.” It’s the truth: watching the way Louis and Katrina interacted, that day, was like seeing an alternate world, like catching a glimpse of what could have been, if only Mike were still alive, if only Mike were still working together  _with—_ not  _for—_ him, and it broke something inside Harvey.

When it comes down to it, Harvey sees Mike everywhere he goes, in everything he does.

“Harvey...” Louis murmurs sympathetically, voice hoarse with the effort to stop himself from crying. He can’t even find it in himself to lash out at Harvey with some snappy retort about how he and Katrina _definitely_ work better than Harvey and Mike, because really, they don’t. Nobody could ever work as well as Harvey and Mike did together, and Louis knows that better than most. (For years he looked on in envy as Harvey and Mike banded together time and time again against the world, after all. But now Mike is dead, that envy is long gone, and all Louis can feel when he thinks back on those Batman-and-Robin moments is sadness for everything Mike will never get the chance to do now.)

Besides, Louis didn’t miss the way Harvey said “friendship”—Louis knows, again better than most, that Harvey doesn’t _do_ emotions. Or, at least, he doesn’t do _showing_ emotions. And so if Harvey actually said “friendship” instead of “mentorship” or something equally detached, Louis knows Harvey has to mean it.

All the people who honestly believes Harvey doesn’t care are fools. Because Louis can see clearly now that Harvey _does_ care. Too much, maybe. _Especially_ when it comes to Mike.

Harvey laughs sharply then, half-hysterically and half-miserably. “I wasn’t going to take a few days off, both because it goes against everything that I am and everything that I told Mike, and also because I needed the distraction, but Jessica insisted, so here I am.”

“God, Harvey,” Louis chokes out. He wants to say ‘I’m sorry,’ wants to apologize until he’s lost his voice, but when has an ‘I’m sorry’ ever helped in a situation like this, anyway?

Words don’t make anything better.

So instead of an apology, what ends up coming out of his mouth is the words, “He wouldn’t have minded that you had to take time off.”

Harvey snorts. “Of course not,” he says. “Mike probably would have had a field day. He’d boast that he made _the great Harvey Specter_ give a damn.”

Louis winces at the complete and utter derision in Harvey’s voice when he calls himself great. “Probably,” he agrees weakly. After a moment of uneasy quiet, he asks in a burst of impulsiveness, “You don’t think that you’re great?”

Harvey blinks, clearly not having expected that response. “No,” he finally says after a few long minutes. “No. Mike was what made me great.”

“That’s not completely true,” Louis argues before he can stop himself. He grimaces, but he can’t take the words back now, so he decides to just forge ahead, “You were ‘the great Harvey Specter’ long before Mike came along. Mike was bright and brilliant and a complete genius, yes, but it’s not because of him that the world sees you as the best closer in New York.” He’s inwardly relieved when his voice comes out solid, instead of bitter or jealous.

Harvey’s expression closes off and he shakes his head, stiff and angry. “No,” he says in a low, tight voice. “ _No,_ Louis. I was never greater than when he was by my side. There will _never_ be anyone else.”

Louis’ eyes widen in surprise, because he can hear what Harvey _isn’t_ saying. He’s always suspected, of course—he’d have to be blind _and_ deaf not to notice the way Harvey has always been willing to shoulder hell for Mike. But before now, he’s never had it confirmed just _how_ much Harvey cares. Before now, he’s never had it confirmed that Mike Ross was Harvey’s Sheila. 

“You... you loved him?” Louis asks gently.

A harsh bark of laughter slips through Harvey’s lips, and Louis flinches before he can stop himself. The self-loathing pouring off of Harvey in waves terrifies him more than anything. “Yes,” Harvey finally confirms after a few minutes of deranged, hysterical laughter. “I did. I loved him, and I never told him. I was always too much of a coward to tell him.”

Louis feels his surprise rise to previously unknown heights. Because Harvey never calls himself a coward. It just doesn’t _happen_. “Harvey...”

“But enough about that,” Harvey dismisses coldly, and it is only the hurt he cannot quite conceal in his eyes that silences Louis. Because Louis can tell that Harvey _needs_ this, _needs_ to change the subject and distract himself. “What about you, Louis? Any new mistresses I should tell your wife about?”

Louis is about to protest, about to fire off with his usual _That’d be funny if I had a wife_ retort, when he notices the smirk on Harvey’s face. It’s small, and barely there, and more mocking than truly happy, but it’s not a frown, and it’s probably the first expression he’s seen since coming here today that doesn’t contain sadness, so Louis decides to let it slide just this once. “Her name’s Tara,” he starts to say, knowing that right now, this small reprieve is all he can offer Harvey. “She’s the most gorgeous woman you’ll ever meet. She’s brilliant and tough and smart, too. I’m telling you, she’s _perfect_.”

“That’s great, Louis,” Harvey says, and the thing is, Louis cannot detect even an ounce of insincerity. “I’m happy for you.”

Louis has to bite back a sob at that, because for one thing, Harvey sounds more _honest_ than ever before, and for another thing, Harvey also sounds _sadder_ than ever before, as if he’s just now realizing that he will never have this, never have _Mike_. 

Before he can say anything to that, though (not that he even knows what he could say), Harvey asks, “Does she know how you feel?”

Louis stiffens in his seat. “N-No, _of course not_ ,” he stutters out, laughing nervously. “I could never tell her. I mean, if you looked at her, then at me, you’d understand.”

Harvey smiles in commiseration. “I’ve been thinking the same thing for the last six years, Louis, and trust me when the movies tell you to take the chance while you have it, they’ve got it right. Because for so long I’ve been too chickenshit to tell Mike how I feel, believing he could never feel the same without even asking, and now all I wish is I had more time _to tell him._ ”

Louis closes his eyes. “You don’t understand, Harvey,” he says desperately. “She’s an absolutely amazing woman, and I’m just... I’m _me_.”

“Believe me, Louis, there’s nothing I understand more.” And from the broken look on Harvey’s face, Louis knows he’s telling the truth. “Louis, for years I fed myself excuse after excuse, trying to convince myself that we could never be together—because we’re too different in age; we’re too different in personality; we’re both men; he has a girlfriend; he’s _engaged—_ and it all came down to _he could never want me_. But the truth is, Louis, _I don’t know_ if we could have been together or not because _I never tried._ ”

Louis sniffles. “ _Harvey_...” he whimpers; this is the most truth Harvey has ever deigned to tell him in one go, and it’s a shame that it’s about the love he lost, the future he will never have because he never found the courage to chase after it.

Harvey shrugs off Louis’ pity with a pained smile. “You think it’s safer to hide your feelings and just be satisfied with what you have now, _I get that_ —more than anyone—but trust me when I say it’ll never be enough. Let me just ask you one thing, Louis: isn’t the _possibility_ that she might feel even a _fraction_ of what you feel for her worth putting yourself out there for?”

Louis finds himself stunned into silence for the umpteenth time that night. Because Harvey just sounds so _earnest_ , so _passionate_ , and Louis knows without a doubt that Harvey isn’t talking about Louis and Tara anymore. Because Harvey is talking about his own missed chances, about what he wants more than anything in the world but what he can _never_ have because _he lost Mike_.

They all lost Mike, and Louis knows now, _vividly_ , that they will never be the same. Not without the genius kid who could spot an obscure loophole in a thousand-page brief from a mile away. Not without the selfless man Louis, whether he liked to admit it or not, respected.

Louis thought he knew what it meant to grieve Mike’s loss, but sitting here now, in front of Harvey who’s lost _himself_ in the process of losing _Mike_ , he knows he was wrong. His pain is nothing compared to Harvey’s.

Louis can feel his heart shatter all over again, this time for Harvey, the one left in the land of the living.

“Yes,” he hears himself whisper. “ _Yes_. Even the _smallest_ chance that she might... it’s worth _everything_.”

Harvey smiles back at him, and for the first time in years, maybe even the first time in _forever,_ Louis feels like he _truly_ understands Harvey. He feels like the understanding is mutual.

“Then if that’s the case,” Harvey continues, and Louis focuses again on Harvey; he focuses on the anguish dripping off Harvey’s voice, and off his very words, “If that’s the case, my advice is, you _tell_ her you love her, you _tell_ her how much you care and how important she is to you, how _invaluable_ and _irreplaceable_. Don’t let a day go by without letting her know how deeply you feel for her. Because I’ve lost my chance, Louis, and you shouldn’t have to lose yours, too. So please, Louis, _tell her._ Tell her while you still have the time. Tell her before it’s too late, like it was too late for me, because I _promise_ you, if you don’t tell her, you _are going to_ regret it. You’re going to wish you weren’t so much of a coward that you couldn’t look her in the eye and tell her that _you want to be with her_ , that you want an _honest-to-God_ chance at the future you could have together. Because I _was_ that coward, Louis. I wasted _too much goddamn time_ , and I regret it _every, single, day_. I don’t… I don’t want you to have to live with the same regret.” 

Louis blinks back tears, the pain seeping into Harvey’s voice and spreading through the sheer sincerity on his face making his heart ache. Harvey was _never_ supposed to look this vulnerable, this _heartbroken_ , but he does, and Louis… Louis has never seen anything more devastating. He just wishes he could erase the complete misery from Harvey’s red-rimmed eyes. “Harvey, I...” he begins, his voice hoarse and croaky.

Harvey just smiles briefly, so sad and guilty and remorseful that Louis has to look away for a choked moment, and cuts Louis off with one last remark: “I don’t want it to be too late for you, too. So I’m telling you now, don’t make the same mistakes I made, Louis. _Don’t be afraid to love._ ” There is pain rooted deep in his voice, but he sounds firm and unfaltering, and the dam breaks. 

The tears finally spill over Louis’ face without restraint, and for the first time since Mike Ross’ funeral he lets himself remember— _really_ remember. 

He lets himself remember a great man, one so generous and kind and selfless; he remembers a man who gave everything for a world that gave him nothing, a man who defended those who couldn’t defend themselves, who threw himself into the line of fire without thought and without hesitation when innocent lives were at stake. 

He remembers a man who, for the sake of strangers, preyed on those who called themselves predators and who delighted in the plight of women and children; a man who expended every resource and every effort into finding justice for those no one else really even _saw,_ much less cared about. He remembers a man who always tried to cheer up all those around him, _including_ people who were cruel to him; a man more forgiving than any other he’s ever had the pleasure of encountering. 

He remembers a man who refused to let anything and anyone get him down, who refused to let the sharks of their cutthroat world of corporate law dim his spirit and force him into submission. 

He remembers strength, courage, loyalty. He remembers genuine care and thoughtfulness and compassion. He remembers a man worth remembering.

::

A few hours later, well into the night after Louis promised to tell Tara the truth and left, Harvey dials a by now familiar number and listens to the phone beep, pressed to his ear.

_“What would you like to order, Mr. Specter, sir?”_

And it makes him startle that the operator knows his name—it makes him think of how often he must have ordered from this specific pizza place, how often Mike must have coaxed him into getting takeout in the form of unhealthy pizza with cheese in the crust.

He’s frozen for a moment, before the operator repeats the question and brings him back to the present. He shakes off the reminder of Mike, and the subsequent sorrow that accompanies it, and makes his ( _his and Mike’s_ ) usual order of pepperoni pizza with a cheesy crust. 

He hangs up and throws the phone onto his sofa, himself falling back against the aged leather. He stays like that until the pizza arrives: staring blankly up at the ceiling, wondering how it’s possible that one man affects his life so much, and then turning right around and wondering how he can even question that at this point.

Thirty minutes later there’s a knock on his door. He stumbles over to the door, opens it and thrusts a few bills out at the same time, and ignores the blatant surprise on the (familiar) delivery boy’s face when he sees only Harvey at the door.

He’s getting better at this whole pretending thing, he thinks, and is grateful when the delivery boy doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask where _“the young blonde with the penchant for cheese in his crust”_ is. The delivery boy accepts his money, looks even more surprised when Harvey waves off the change (usually Mike has to convince him to leave a large tip), and then turns around and walks away.

Harvey lets the door close quietly behind the other man, and carries his pizza back to his living room. 

Two slices in, he asks himself how he ever thought this was a good idea when it’s normally Mike who finishes off the bigger portion of the pizza. And then he forcefully erases that thought and resolves to finish the whole pizza, just because he can, just so he won’t have to stare at the leftover slices and know that Mike would have polished off every last crumb remaining with a smug laugh and a cheeky wink.

His stomach is groaning and furiously cursing at him almost an hour later, but he succeeded, he finished all of it, and he sighs in relief. He gets himself comfortable on his couch, blocking out any images of Mike who’s crashed on this same couch over a dozen times before, and settles in for what he’s sure will be a nightmare-filled sleep.

And so a few minutes later (probably actually more than an hour later, but he doesn’t think about that, nor does he think about how he never used to be insomniac before Mike upped and died), he falls asleep with an empty box of cheese-crust pizza on his coffee table and Mike’s face in his mind. 

He falls asleep wishing he could see Mike in person again, even if it’s just one more time.

::

_“Hey! Stop! What are you—what are you doing!?” Mike yelps, and the sheer terror in his voice makes Harvey’s blood go cold with dread. “No, wait! Don’t! Stop, please. Please...”_

_The desperate screams die off abruptly, interrupted by the horrible squelching sound of metal sinking into something pliable, breakable. There is a faint gurgling as walls come crashing down and foundations crumble and futures are stolen._

_It takes a few seconds before Harvey reconciles the sound as that of a blade piercing flesh, but once he does Harvey inhales sharply, feeling the floor disappear from under his feet. He turns the corner sharply and doubles over in shock, tumbling down to his knees._

_Frank Gallo stands in front of him, towering over a pale body Harvey instantly recognizes as Mike Ross’. There is a disgusting smirk on Frank Gallo’s face when he glances back at Harvey, and Harvey sees_ red _. The roar that explodes from deep inside his chest is one he doesn’t recognize. It is animalistic and so goddamn_ angry _that Gallo, for just a brief moment, shivers._

_But then the moment passes and Gallo throws his head back, releasing an arrogant laugh. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, counselor,” he chuckles. “Ring, ring.”_

_Harvey_ howls _with rage. He is barreling towards Gallo before he even knows what he’s doing, and he’s just about to reach Gallo and let his fists_ fly— _when Gallo disappears into nothingness._

_Harvey doesn’t let that stop him for longer than a second. The next second, he’s rushing to Mike’s side, eyes fixated on the crimson (so, so dark) blood leaking from the gaping wound taking up most of Mike’s torso, fear clawing at his heart._

_Mike’s eyes are devoid of emotion and unseeing, but his lips are moving, so Harvey leans in frantically. He can just about make out Mike’s whisper of “H-Harvey... h-help—help me...”_

_Harvey falls back in disbelief and growing horror. “Mike,” he begs, his voice small like a terrified little boy’s, “Mike,_ please _. Please, don’t do this to me.”_

_“I’m sorry,” Mike croaks, just before he blinks once, and his eyes close for the last time._

_Mike dies, slipping right through Harvey’s fingers, and Harvey hears his regrets loud and clear._

“Mike!” Harvey shouts, waking with a start, jackknifing at the waist into a sitting position. 

It takes him a moment to realize it was all only a dream—except, not really, because Mike is still dead, and that’s real, _that happened_ , and nothing else matters.

He tries to calm his stampeding heart, tries to stave off the oncoming exhaustion because he _knows_ that if he lets himself fall asleep again, it will only be to more visions of Mike snuffed out by Frank Gallo’s cruelty.

But despite his best efforts, his eyes slowly droop closed and he slips off into slumber once more.

_“You should have listened to me, Specter,” a familiar voice cackles, and when his sight refocuses Harvey sucks in a sharp breath. Because in front of him stands Frank Gallo, one powerful arm curled around Mike’s neck, pressing the serrated edge of a knife to Mike’s reddening skin. “You shouldn’t have threatened me.”_

_“No,” Harvey mumbles numbly, “_ no _. No, Gallo,_ please _. Please don’t—”_

_Gallo’s arm plunges the knife into Mike’s body, and as the light in Mike’s eyes die and blood spurts out of the fresh wound, Harvey hears a deafening scream echo in the prison cell._

_It takes him a delayed moment to realize that the scream is coming from him._

_It also takes him a delayed moment to realize that Mike is already dead. He is dead, and still Harvey regrets. Most of all he regrets never saying “I love you.”_

Harvey sobs himself awake. He hauls himself off the couch and over to the closest sink—which happens to be the kitchen sink—immediately throwing up what little food he ate today. Heaving, he spends what feels like an inordinate amount of effort raising his head. His eyes catch on a glint of silver, and he glimpses his blurry reflection in the metal of one of his large cutting knives. 

The ghost that stares back at him is only a shell of the man he used to be.

Harvey lowers his head and throws up again, all the while hearing Gallo’s imagined words reverberate in the labyrinth of his mind. _“Ring, ring,”_ his dreams had taunted him. _“You shouldn’t have threatened me,”_ his hallucination of Gallo had sneered.

And _what if_?

What if he _didn’t_ threaten Gallo that one time? What if he _didn’t_ confront him, _didn’t_ tell him he’d be able to reach him even in prison?

Would Mike still be alive, still be breathing?

_“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,”_ a phantom image of Gallo says again.

Harvey closes his eyes to the image of a man who will never be punished ( _enough_ ) for killing Mike, and throws up again.

::

Ten minutes later finds Harvey scrolling desperately through his phone’s camera album in search of a video from years past. When he finally does locate it, he almost shudders with unmitigated relief. It’s perhaps the only video he has of Mike: in the first frame Mike is grinning up at him, childish and immature and so full of laughter, and Harvey can’t help but smile back. 

For a second, it’s almost as if things are back to normal.

It’s only for a second, though.

Harvey lies back down on the couch and lets the video play, _aching_ to hear Mike’s voice again even though he knows, _knows_ without a shadow of doubt, that all it will do is send him further into his own destruction.

_“Hey, Harvey,” Mike says through a fit of rambunctious laughter. The warm sound of pure joy bounces off the cold walls of Harvey’s condo in the way Harvey has always hoped it might. “God,” he chokes out, giggling nervously as he glances around himself, “I hope you like this.”_

And Harvey did like it, he remembers. He remembers giving Mike shit for it, but he loved it. He’s watched it multiple times over the years, always cherishing the giddiness it never failed to bring him, to know that Mike cared enough to make him something like this.

_“Anyway, I should probably get on with telling you what this is for. It’s pretty obvious given the date, but, well, my Gram told me once it’s rude to assume, and apparently for things like this it’s proper to start with the purpose.” Mike smiles sheepishly at the camera. “So let’s start over.”_

Harvey marvels at the youth shining brightly from deep inside Mike’s vivid blue eyes. Mike looks so innocent here, so perfect.

Well, to be fair, Mike always looks perfect.

_“Happy birthday, Harvey.” Mike’s smile grows. “I wish for only the best for you.”_

As he always does whenever he watches this part, Harvey loses himself in the soft sincerity in Mike’s voice. He loses himself in the honesty.

_“I owe you everything, Harvey. I just hope this can begin to pay you back for everything you’ve done for me since the day we met, because the truth is, you deserve the world, Harvey.” The look on Mike’s face is painfully open, painfully vulnerable. “I need you to know that I appreciate all of it. I appreciate_ you _, more than you know. You’ve given me all I’ve ever dreamed of on a silver platter, and I just... I’m so grateful for that, because I wouldn’t have_ any _of this without you.”_

_“Mike!” Donna yells from another room, her voice slightly muffled, and Mike glances to the side. “Hurry up!”_

_Mike laughs freely, the sound so effortlessly easy and carefree. “One moment!” he shouts back at Donna, and then turns his head to face the camera again. He gives Harvey a mischievous smirk. “That’s your party calling, by the way,” he says with a rather helpless shrug. “Donna kind of warned me that you don’t like surprises, and that you don’t even like celebrating your birthday_ at all _—she told me to include that in this, by the way, so you know not to blame her (again, her words)—but I promise you’ll enjoy this one. And if you don’t, I give you permission to send me to detention for as long as you deem necessary.”_

Harvey laughs in surprise. He’d forgotten about that short aside. It makes him shake his head fondly, even after all this time. The first time Mike had been assigned to Louis for a small case Louis needed his help on, Mike had pouted and accused Harvey of sending him to “detention.”

His gaze softens when he remembers the nervous look on Mike’s face when Harvey had walked into a full-fledged surprise party already raging in his condo all those years ago. He’d initially been furious, of course, but honestly, how could _anyone_ expect him to stay mad when Mike had been staring expectantly and hopefully up at him in that charming way of his? 

_“Right, so, I guess that’s it for the video.” Mike chews his lip in thought. “Oh! I almost forgot—and yeah, yeah, I know what you’re thinking, but I reiterate my point that my eidetic memory doesn’t help in situations like this—” he rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, and then breaks character to shoot the camera a boyish grin. “Your gift’s waiting for you in your briefcase.”_

Harvey gulps, loud in the sudden silence of his condo, as the video ends. He remembers now how he glared at Mike and snapped at him for bothering with something so utterly ridiculous, but he also remembers how he smiled to himself when Mike had turned away and how he saved the video to three separate flash-disks _just in case_. 

He remembers digging through his briefcase and finding an autographed first pressing of The Spinners’ most famous album hidden between two files. 

He remembers wondering how the hell Mike managed to slip the album into his briefcase without him noticing. He remembers his shock at seeing the signature, at noticing the album was an original. He remembers thinking it must have cost Mike a fortune—and a world of effort—to acquire it.

He remembers smiling genuinely at Mike the following day, remembers the blaze of understanding that flashed between them despite no words being exchanged. He remembers Mike’s only-for-him smile in response.

He remembers thinking _God, I love this kid,_ for the first time ever.

He swallows thickly, staring down at Mike’s beaming grin, frozen on his phone screen. His fingers curl tighter around the device and he is struck with an unexplainable urge to _hurl_ the small phone at the glass wall overlooking the city, as if it might break through the thick windows and sail over New York’s finest architecture.

As if it might plunge into the darkness outside and be lost forever, along with Mike’s smile.

Instead, he crushes the urge, and finds himself clicking open the contacts app, automatically entering the speed dials section. He presses Speed Dial #1, which he designated to Mike years ago (and really, that should have been his first clue), and listens to the phone process his call.

_“Hello, you’ve reached Mike Ross at Pearson Specter Litt. I’m sorry, but I’m unable to take your call at the moment. If you’re a client, please leave your name, your phone number, and a brief message after the beep, and I will get back to you at the earliest opportunity. If you’re Donna, I’ll remind you I bought you an extra-large vanilla latte this morning and ask you for mercy. If you’re Harvey, I promise I’m not going to be late today, I’m already on my way.”_

Harvey huffs a strangled laugh at Mike's voicemail greeting. It seems like it was just yesterday when he was reaming Mike out for yet another tardy arrival. God, how he wishes Mike is only late this time.

But Mike’s never going to show up anymore, because this time, his lateness is permanent.

The phone beeps insistently after a second, and Harvey manages to compose himself enough to say, “Didn’t I already tell you to change your voicemail, rookie? It’s still not funny.”

He hesitates, his voice splintering for a moment as he tries to find his words. He stops trying to pretend, stops trying to aim for amusement and banter, because Mike isn’t here to reciprocate anymore. Mike isn’t laughing at his complaints anymore, isn’t telling him gleefully, _It’s damn hilarious and you know it, Specter._

“I’ve been falling apart without you,” he admits finally, stumbling over the words. He snorts, “You’d be laughing your head off if you could hear me now, wouldn’t you? Yeah, you would. You’d say something like _I knew you cared,_ and I wouldn’t be able to deny it anymore. Because _yeah,_ I  _do_ care—so fucking much. I'm sorry I never told you. And _god_ , Mike, I’m sorry I’m so bad at this whole mourning thing, because to be frank _I don’t want_ to have to mourn you.”

Now that he’s begun, he can’t stop the words from coming, he can’t stop _himself_ from speaking. “And I’m sorry for trashing everything, for getting rid of anything that even remotely reminds me of you, but it’s just that... It’s just that I _love_ you, Mike, _too much_ , and I couldn't  _stand_  having these constant reminders of you _everywhere_ when I can’t _do_ anything about it.”

He inhales deeply. “Not that it really even helps. It’s ironic, don’t you think, that people keep saying _Out of sight, out of mind,_ when really that’s just not true? You’re never out of mind because no matter what I’ve destroyed or what has been buried, you’re still the only thing I can think about. You're _all_ I can think about.” He breaks off into a laugh at that, one that’s disdainful and contemptuous because _shame on him._

He’d always mocked Mike for caring, but just look at him now. 

“Who would have thought that the great and powerful Harvey Specter would meet his match in a goddamn fraud?” He laughs again, just as scornful, just as self-deprecating, but this time also somehow fond. “But I did, Mike. Because you’ve always met my every expectation—in fact, you’ve _succeeded_ every limitation I set for you; it’s no wonder I fell for you.”

He stops briefly, listens to the silence coming from his phone, and wishes he could hear anything, _anything_ , even if it’s just Mike’s breathing from the other side. Everything is just too quiet now.

He hates himself for never appreciating Mike’s loud nature while Mike was still alive, because the quiet grates on him more than the noise Mike made ever could.

“You were the best and most important thing in my life, and I’m sorry I was never brave enough to tell you that. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring myself to tell you I love you until now. Until it's too fucking late.” Harvey pauses, and he draws in a shaky breath as he tries to keep from breaking down and crying—for what would be the umpteenth time this week. 

And god, he’s only just realizing now how much he’s changed. How much _Mike_ has changed him. But he can’t bring himself to regret it, not when that would mean regretting Mike. And he could never regret Mike. 

“ _Damnit,_ I’m sorry, I just... I just _miss_ you, Mike. So goddamn much.” 

He’s about to change the subject and ramble on about how the firm has been doing so far, when he runs out of the allotted time for voicemails; the long _beep_ that cuts him off and signifies the voicemail’s end is nothing less than what he imagines Mike’s failing heart must have sounded like as he flatlined.

Harvey resolutely doesn’t cry as he clutches the phone closely and lets his head fall back against the couch.

He falls asleep like that: with the phone cradled to his chest, his grip tight and white-knuckled as though the tiny, insignificant device is his lifeline, as though it is _Mike_.

(He falls asleep wishing it really _were_  Mike he is holding in his arms.)

He falls asleep wishing he had more time, wishing for another chance. Wishing he’d taken the opportunity to tell Mike the truth before it was too late.

_“Get busy living, or get busy dying,”_ Mike had told him what seems like forever ago, right before he walked into prison with his head held high and his pride thriving.

Mike had also told him that _Even knowing how it all turned out, I’d do it again._

And Harvey had agreed, had said something stupid about never imagining he’d meet someone like Mike, _“someone dumb enough to go to prison for me.”_

And right now, in the hazy moment before sleep claims him, Harvey knows he would give anything to go back to their beginning, go back to _Mike_. 

He knows he would give anything for the chance to do things differently, to wrap his arms around Mike and hold on tight and never let go.

To tell him, finally, that he means the world to Harvey, that he _is_ Harvey’s world.

To save him.


End file.
